Chipping Through the Ice
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is my entry into the Castle Ficathon 2019. It is an AU story in the same universe as Shattered Lies and picks up five months later. We start with a baby and a mystery for Out of The Cold. The cover image is by Artifex Prime.
1. Chapter 1

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 1

"Sliders!" Martha exclaims. "When I was in labor with Richard, the nurses wouldn't allow me to eat anything except ice chips. I almost broke a tooth."

"Nurses, Mother?" Castle queries. "Didn't I hear you tell an interviewer that I was born on the subway on the way to the hospital?"

Martha fingers her chunky necklace. "Yes, well, I may have embroidered a bit for the press. I did have to take the subway to get to the hospital. I certainly didn't have anyone to drive me in a fancy SUV."

Castle shakes his head. "Mother, Toyota didn't make SUVs when I was born, and I bought the Acura for its safety rating, not the luxury appointments, but only the best for Kate and our child. And that goes for the sliders, too. I had Remy's make them especially for her. Freshly ground meat and double ketchup. She has to keep her strength up, and until Callie decides to greet the world, Kate is still eating for two."

"It is lovely that you decided to honor Callie Lowell by naming your daughter after her," Martha remarks.

Kate takes a healthy bite of a mini burger. "Callie started us down a new and wonderful path. I'm not sure there would have been an Out of the Cold if she hadn't been so determined to look into her parents' death."

"The ring she made wasn't bad either," Rick notes, handing Kate a king-sized shake. "Here. Calcium for Callie's strong bones."

Kate runs the palm of her hand over her belly. "The way she's kicked the past few months, I don't think we'll have to worry about her strength."

Castle feathers a kiss to Kate's hospital-gown-draped Callie-bump. "No doubt she's inherited the incomparable Beckett limbs."

Kate winces as the fetal monitor shows the start of another contraction. "I should call the nurse." Castle worries, pointing at the cannula leading to Kate's back. "Maybe you need more joy juice."

Kate reaches for his hand. "I'm fine. Just a little tightness. At least I know something is happening."

"Something is definitely happening," Castle declares. "We're going to have a baby!"

* * *

Chase Fairweather regards the plans for reactivating the railroad yard. It and the cars in it have been sitting practically unmaintained for years. About the only thing the company is doing in terms of upkeep is having a service mow the grass around the edges now and then, and employing a guard to keep anyone from trying to steal metal parts for scrap.

Even if passenger travel is a losing proposition, there is plenty of money to be made these days in moving freight, especially if the company can get tax subsidies for reducing greenhouse gases by putting the transport containers on the rails instead of having semis burn diesel to haul them on the highways.

Chase's first step will be to take his team to inspect the equipment and figure out just what it will cost to get the equipment up and running again. After that, he can throw some numbers at the board. His assistant is making the arrangements now. He should be able to start putting some figures together in a day or two.

* * *

Nurse Kelly places the newly emerged Callie on Kate's chest. The strands of a full head of hair peeking out from beneath the baby's cap are dark brown like Rick's and what he guesses might have been Kate's original color. Dr. Francis declared that everything that is supposed to be there, is, but Kate counts Callie's fingers anyway, while Castle beams.

Kate both dreads and looks forward to what will be coming next. The parade of visitors will include not only her father, who she wants to see but her Aunt Theresa. She also expects a stream of friends and colleagues from the precinct and Out of the Cold. It's not that she doesn't like company, she just wants some time alone with her daughter and her husband first. Callie's fist wraps around her father's little finger. The baby's already got Rick wrapped around hers.

* * *

Jackson gazes through the glass separating him from his newborn granddaughter. He had to wait for her to be brought back to the nursery. She was with her parents, as she should have been. Richard has turned out to be one hell of a father. Hunt can't take any credit for that, but he's proud anyway.

The covert grandfather can't make up his mind if the baby looks more like Kate or Richard. Who can tell with babies, anyway? In any case, compared with all the other infants, Callie Beckett-Castle is far and away the most beautiful. Hunt is absolutely sure of that.

* * *

Castle triple checks the attachment of Callie's safety seat before sliding behind the wheel of his new vehicle. He turns to Kate, who is shifting around in the passenger seat. "Are you all right? I can adjust your lumbar support, and I have pillows."

"Fine, Babe. Dr. Francis said I'd be a little sore for a while, but I've felt worse after a good sparing session in the gym. Just get us home, OK."

Castle starts the ignition. "Family Beckett-Castle is loftward bound. Alexis promised she would have lunch waiting. She's keeping Mother away from the kitchen, so it should be edible. Big sister says she told Custos that we're bringing home the baby and she thinks he understood her. Nevertheless, she'll be holding on to him when we come in until we have a chance to introduce Callie to her big furry guardian. From then on, anyone who tries to get near our newest edition uninvited will have a muzzle in his face and 180 pounds of protective canine on his chest."

Kate reaches across the console to put a hand on her husband's knee. "And you wouldn't have it any other way."

"Where the safety of my family is concerned, you know it. Dog or commando squad, whatever it takes."

* * *

Gunther Klemperer walks along the tracks where the railroad cars have been idled ever since he can remember. Guarding the yard has been an easy gig. He's had to chase off a few kids now and then. There's a cable running from an electrical line to one of the old freezer cars. He thought for a while that some homeless might have rigged it so they could camp out in there, but he hasn't seen anyone. For the most part, he's been able to spend his time reading.

Gunther always carefully hides them from his buddies at Louie's bar, but he loves romance novels. The guard can't get enough of heroes and heroines overcoming the odds to find happiness with each other. He didn't have much luck with either of his marriages, but the books give him hope.

Unfortunately, if Gunther is reading the tea leaves right, he won't have much chance to read anymore. Big shot Chase Fairweather is determined to make these old relics run again. Gunther surveys the fading paint and rusting metal. Fairweather is going to have one heck of a job on his hands to refurbish them.

Gunther muses again about the power running into the freezer car. If it is something he should have reported and didn't, he could be in trouble when Fairweather shows up. Making his way to the still shiny hulk, he examines the heavy doors. The padlock securing them doesn't look like it's been touched in years, and he has no key for it anyway. He's checked on what he could. If anything turns up in there, the bosses can't blame it on him. He reaches into his back pocket for a slim paperback volume. He has time to read a few chapters before his shift is over, and after that, he can hit Louie's for a beer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 2

Decades-long railroad engineer Scott McGinnis points up at the cable snaking into the aged freezer car. "This baby was decommissioned years ago. That shouldn't be there."

Chase Fairweather signals to Gunther Klemperer. "Can you get this thing open?"

Gunther holds his hands up helplessly. "I never got a key."

"What we need is a bolt cutter," Scott declares. "I have one in the trunk of my car with my other tools. I never know what I'll need on the job."

The group of overdressed men clustered around Chase Fairweather shuffles their feet against the rough gravel of the railyard until Scott returns to snip the lock. As Scott yanks on them, the long-closed doors creak open, and a blast of cold air rushes out of the car.

Fairweather peeks inside. "What the hell? What's someone keeping frozen in here?"

Scott steps into the frosty interior. "Mother of God! Bodies. It's full of bodies."

* * *

Esposito regards the crime scene. "Man, there must be twenty corpsicles in there.

Lanie emerges from the icy mass entombment. "Twenty-two. At first I thought this might have been human trafficking gone bad, but usually, most of those victims are women lured to the U.S. and caught up in sexual slavery, or men with enough muscle to be put to work in the building trades or the fields. These bodies don't fit that description at all. They're all men, I'd put them in their twenties, and I don't think any of them saw a day at the gym for some time before they died. I won't know much more until I thaw them out and I don't even have the room or heat lamps to do that at the morgue. I'm going to try to beg some help off of Kate."

Ryan's mouth gapes. "You're going to go to her with this? She just had a baby!"

Lanie's head bobs on her neck. "Don't you think I know that? I was the first one outside the family to see Callie. But I think Kate will want to help. She solves cold cases now, and you can't get much colder than this. Besides, Castle will love it."

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. "For him, the weirder, the better."

* * *

"Wow!" Castle muses. "If I weren't going to use that other frozen body we found in a story; the freezer car would make a great one. So how many victims is Lanie going to send to Out of the Cold?"

"As many as we can take, I guess. I'll have to double check it with Clark Murray, but he's on a plane coming back from San Francisco. He went to a performance of La Boheme."

Castle peels an orange and offers Kate half the sections. "He could have stayed in New York and gone to see Rent."

Kate sucks the sticky juice. "I don't think that's quite what he had in mind. He should be back in a few hours, and we'll see what he can do. A familiar "Oh la oh la," protests from a speaker of the baby monitor. "Sounds like someone wants her own snack, but I'm suddenly dying for an Italian ice. You know the kind with the lemon and raspberry?"

Castle grins. "I do indeed. A most discerning choice. Custos can use a walk anyway. I shall return with a frozen treat for the sweet."

Jackson watches Richard leave the loft with the family's faithful guardian. He wishes Kate and the baby were with him. He'd love to have another look at the little girl. But he'll be around for a while. His last assignment was suddenly called off, no doubt due to some behind the scenes political maneuvering. There is always a lot of that going on concerning that part of the world. He expects that Russia has its fingers in this pot, but then that's just history biting the Red Menace in the ass. The country has been after a bread basket with a decent port forever. The Ukraine provided both. With the break up of the Soviet Union, the Russian economy shrank to the size of Italy's with most of the resources being snatched by inner circle kleptocrats. There isn't much left now but oil and gas, but the country is using its fossil fuels to manipulate everything it can.

Jackson smiles tightly to himself. The project in Wisconsin is going better than the Russians, or almost anyone else could guess. The tokamak might not be online until 2050 when Jackson expects he'll be very long gone, but it's just a distraction anyway - smoke and mirrors.

Using lasers to trigger fusion is what really counts, and that development is going great guns. He wouldn't even know about it if it wasn't in the purview of the CIA to make sure that rare earth supplies are not interrupted. That means dealing with the Chinese, always a dicey proposition, but the Company has a few tricks up its sleeves, Jackson included. So far so good. When the experiments succeed, Russia will have to go begging fur hats in hand to sell its dead dinosaurs. Jackson hopes that he lives to see that day.

* * *

Castle considers the railroad freezer car when he sticks his hand into the ice cream case at the corner store. Sam Katz, the owner, told him that he keeps the thermostat at 30 below so that his solidly frozen wares won't melt while his customers navigate the New York sidewalks to their homes. The bodies must have been maintained at a temperature not much different to keep them so frigid. The power involved could not have been trivial. God -and Con Edison- know it's not cheap to operate refrigerators and air conditioners. So why wasn't the energy usage noticed?

Maybe it was. Could someone at Con Ed have been covering it up? The trail to whoever hid the aberrant flow of current could lead to the Bad Humor Man. Ugh! Rick's got to think of a better appellation for the killer than that. He'll come up with something, but right now he needs to make sure that Custos has done all his business and get the Italian treat back to Kate - and ask her how to get a look at electric bills.

* * *

Dr. Clark Murray is singing Che Gelida Manina at the top of his voice. It really is the top of his voice. If he had to go any higher, the glass in his magnifier would crack. But since he heard the aria in San Francisco, he hasn't been able to get it out of his head. It was featured in Pavarotti's debut in 1961; a performance opera lovers could never forget.

Murray won't forget the load of bodies that have just begun to arrive at Out of the Cold, either. He had to call an industrial supply house to get his hands on enough infrared lamps to start getting rid of the ice. He could chip some of it away, but he doesn't want to take a chance of damaging tissues that might hold a clue to a mass murderer. The thawing process will take a long time, even with the radiant heat, but so far he's fascinated with the case. It's as if the killer is a doll collector, but he only likes one kind of doll and keeps buying it over and over. Murray can take care of the what questions with his autopsies, but the why and who are most likely Kate's and Rick's domain.


	3. Chapter 3

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 3

Kate carefully lays a well-fed and drowsy Callie in her portable bassinet and jams a spoon into a container of Italian ice. "Babe, I don't think there's any way that Out of the Cold can dig into electrical usage around the railyard - not legally anyway."

Castle flutters his eyelashes. "Why Katherine Beckett-Castle, are you considering employing a hacker?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "I don't think we'll have to resort to that. The boys can get access. They're primary on the investigation, and Ryan has become almost as much of a whiz on the computer as his counterpart in your books. I can't see that Con Ed would offer any objections. If someone were stealing power, they'd want to know about it. I'll give the precinct a call." She runs the tip of her tongue over the sweetness on her spoon. "As soon as I finish this. And I thought I'd go check up on Dr. Murray's progress and the cases that Out of the Cold is officially handling. I haven't hired anyone for the childcare room yet, but I can put Callie in her front carrier, and she can make the rounds with me."

"You're planning on taking her into Murray's lab? Should she be around all those bodies? I mean, Murray and Lanie haven't given us CODs yet. They might be harboring some dread disease."

"Someone infected them with a superbug and then locked the bodies in a freezer car? Babe, that's out there, even for you."

Castle shrugs. "You may have a point. But nevertheless, better safe than sorry. I will make the willing sacrifice of holding Callie while you enter the ice cave."

"Sacrifice huh? Like spending half an hour just watching her breathe last night?"

"I was also contemplating plotlines. A writer's work is never done."

"Uh huh."

* * *

"I am the Captain of the Pinafore and a very good Captain too," tunefully floats down the hall from Murray's lab.

"Gilbert and Sullivan, not his usual," Castle notes, cradling Callie against the cloth diaper draped on his shoulder. "He sounds pleased with himself. I hope that means he has something."

"Well, since you are guarding our daughter against any biohazard that Murray might have unleashed, I'll go find out."

"Callie and I can retire to your office, but could you put your phone on so I can hear whatever gems the good doctor has to share? Who knows? Callie might even absorb some crime fighting acumen."

Kate snuffs a snort behind her hand. "Sure, Babe. You want me to hook you up on Facetime?"

"Ooh! Even better."

Murray motions Kate toward a body with warm reddish light flowing over it on a stainless steel table. "Most of the tissue mass is still frozen, but I have been able to examine the skin. So far, I see no signs of defensive wounds." He points at the victim's chest. "The cause of death appears to be a puncture wound to the heart. It is small and circular, possibly caused by something like an ice pick. I can't be sure until I can open the chest, but I doubt there would have been much external bleeding. Most likely, the blood would have poured into the membrane surrounding the heart and flooded the chest cavity until he essentially drowned."

"So how could someone be stabbed like that without fighting back?" Kate wonders.

"That's for you and the detectives on the case to determine, but if I were to speculate, he was probably asleep. He might have died without ever knowing what happened to him. And the wound was quite precise. Whoever inflicted it either knew what he was doing or had a lot of practice. Since we don't know yet in what order the victims died, it could have been the latter or both."

Rick's voice emanates from the speaker of Kate's phone. "Killing someone in their sleep; that's cold. But everything Sleazer the Freezer does is cold, right down to the choice of weapon. I'm calling him Sleaze for short.

* * *

Alexis is finding it difficult to immerse herself in economics. The math is no problem; it's just that it's more interesting to apply it to physics or game theory. And the history of the subject is depressing. Somehow, people keep wanting to make the same mistakes over and over and refuse to see the proof in front of their eyes that they won't achieve a different result. The only reason she hurries to attend the class is her classmate, Ashley Linden. His mind cuts through the complexities of economic theory like butter, but it isn't just his brilliance that attracts her. He has the cutest brown eyes and the most incredible smile.

For weeks, Alexis has been hoping that Ashley would notice her and today he looks across the room and smiles. He's waiting at the doorway to stroll to the cafeteria with her for lunch. Marlow Academy offers a pretty extensive menu, but she and Ashley end up choosing the same entrée; plum chicken, and the green beans and potato puffs. They even both select the apple tart for dessert. He puts his tray down opposite hers at an empty lunch table. "Not fascinated by the yield curve?" Ashley asks.

"Oh, I suppose it's good to know the signs that a recession is coming, but we just got out of one, so I guess we don't have to worry about another one for a while."

Ashley nods as he spears a bean. "My parents agree with you. They're both economists. I practically grew up on theories and indicators. My Dad wrote a book about them. My folks saw the downturn coming and put their money into buying foreclosures and stocks they knew would rise again. They used the profits to start a foundation to help some of the people hardest hit by the crash."

Alexis' fork stops halfway to her mouth. "That is so cool! You must be so proud of them."

"Well, you should be proud of your dad and your stepmom too, solving all those cases and putting murderers away. And your dad's a best-selling author. I think a few hundred people at best, bought copies of my father's book. Mostly he put it out to solidify his position at NYU."

"Publish or perish?" Alexis asks.

"Pretty much. So listen, Alexis, The Blue Pill is doing a concert in Central Park this weekend, and I was wondering if you want to go with me. I think Sky is doing a great job carrying on her sister's legacy."

"Wow! Yeah! I think so too. The band is still amazing, even if their skenk manager got locked up for giving the members drugs. I'd love to go!"

Alexis is afraid she'll swoon into her plate when Ashley grins at her. "Great. It's a date."

* * *

Alexis erupts through the door of the loft. "Where's Kate?"

"Well hello to you too," Castle calls from the kitchen. "She and her father went out to dinner together. She fed Callie before she left, but I don't think she'll be long. Your little sister wants the Beckett private blend about every three hours, and Kate will be back in time to make sure she gets it. Anything I can help you with?"

"Not really, Dad. It's you know…"

"Girl stuff, I get it. OK. I'll make sure she comes to talk to you when she gets in."

Castle looks after his older daughter as she climbs the stairs to her room. It gnaws at him that his little girl, for whom he ran to the drugstore for feminine supplies, feels there is something they can't discuss. On the other hand, her acceptance of Kate has reached a new level, and that can't be bad.


	4. Chapter 4

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 4

Castle greets Kate's coffee-flavored lips with a kiss. "Did you have a good time with your Dad?"

"Yeah. He told me that he's thinking of expanding his practice, taking on a new associate."

"Someone to train up in the Beckett quest for truth and justice or a patsy to stick with the paperwork?"

Kate smiles as she shrugs. "I think maybe a little of both. He's going to be interviewing the new crop of Columbia Law School grads, and the ones just finishing up clerkships."

"Sounds like he'll have some interesting conversations. And speaking of interesting conversations, Alexis wants to talk to you. Apparently, there is something she doesn't regard as suitable for male ears - unless she whispered to Custos. And Mother is on a retreat where she sits in a yurt and builds her inner awareness. Anyway, Alexis seemed pretty anxious about whatever it is."

Kate drops her purse on a chair. "OK, I'll go up and see her." Kate knocks lightly on the frame of Alexis' partially open door. "Your Dad said you wanted to talk to me."

"Oh, Kate, yeah, please."

Kate closes the door behind her and pulls a chair up to the bed where Alexis is sitting. "So, what's on your mind?"

"There's a boy at school, Ashley. He's very cute, and he's really smart. He asked me to go see The Blue Pill with him. You remember them?"

"A band whose former lead singer was murdered is hard to forget. And I remember that you love their music, so what's the problem?"

"Kate, I like Ashley. I mean I really like Ashley, and I don't want to screw this up. With the French Club, fencing, violin lessons, and keeping up with my advanced classes, I haven't had that much time to date. What do I do for a concert in Central Park? What do I wear? Do I bring a blanket to sit on the grass or would that make Ashley think I want to - you know."

"OK, if Ashley is someone you see every day at school, then he's probably decided that he likes the way you look, or he wouldn't have asked you. So dress the way you usually do, in whatever makes you comfortable. And hopefully, he'll get tickets for the bleachers so you won't need a blanket, but you can ask him if there's anything you should bring. That will put it on him. And Alexis, the most important thing is just to be you. It took me a lot of years to learn that. If a guy doesn't like you for who you are, he's not worth your time."

Alexis leans over the side of the bed to kiss Kate's cheek. "Thanks."

"Any time."

* * *

After a six a.m. feeding, Kate was hoping to catch more sleep, but her cell buzzes at eight. Through the speaker, Ryan's voice rises with excitement. "Beckett, we found them, the records of how long that freezer car was leeching power. That cable's been connected for ten years. Lanie said that she and Murray couldn't get a time of death off frozen bodies, but that must be when the murders started."

"Ten years," Kate repeats. "Ten years ago there had to have been someone with access to the railyard and the skills to siphon electricity without Con Ed getting wise to him. An electrical technician?"

"That's what Esposito and I thought too. Someone who worked either for the railroad or Con Ed around that time. We're going after the personnel files, but with the privacy laws, Con Ed wants a court order."

"And judges get grumpy if you ask too early in the morning," Kate adds.

Castle comes through the door of the bedroom and hands Kate a glass of orange juice. "I heard that, but I happen to know that Markway has an early tee time at the Dyker Beach course in Brooklyn this morning. The only reason he'll have to be grumpy is if he bogies."

Kate beams up at her husband. "Thanks, Babe. Ryan, did you get that?"

"Markway. We're on it."

Kate tosses her phone on the bedside table and takes a swig of her orange juice. "How long have you been up?"

"I couldn't go back to sleep after you fed Callie," Rick admits, so I took Custos for a walk and made breakfast for Alexis before she went off to school. She said she had someone she wanted to talk to before class. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"Nothing she'd want me to share." Kate reaches for Rick's hand. "But Babe, she's fine, just growing up."

"I'm not sure I want her too. Life was less complicated when all she needed to be deliriously happy was a white hooded robe and a plastic lightsaber."

"Well when Callie's a little older, you can give her a lightsaber too."

"It will have to be phthalate-free plastic. Alexis teethed on her first Jedi weapon."

Kate stretches up for a kiss. "I'm not surprised."

* * *

Montgomery checks the report from Jake Lipman, an operative in California. A five-year-old, Jeremy Bursor, disappeared from a park in North Long Beach thirty-five years before. The body was later found by a recreation department employee, John Simmons, on the sand surrounding a wood joggling board in the playground. The detective on the case had considered Simmons a person of interest, but he had an alibi for the time of death, and the case went unsolved. Jeremy's parents had never given up on wanting answers to their son's death and had turned to Out of the Cold for help.

Jake is in the process of hunting down Simmons. He'd apparently moved to Orange County not long after the murder and taken a position with a recreation program run by Easter Seals. Simmons had departed under a cloud, but Jake had been unable to get any details. After that Simmons dropped off the radar. Jake suspects Simmons changed his name, moved out of state or both, and is trying to pick up his trail.

Montgomery grunts as he rereads the details. People, especially potential suspects don't usually disappear for no reason, and the Easter Seals matter is a red flag. Still, Jake doesn't have anything solid. Budgets being what they are, if Jeremy's death had been a police investigation on his watch, Roy might have eventually had to consign it to boxes in the basement too. Fortunately, OOTC has more freedom to extend its probes. Jake will have the time and the funds that he needs. Roy just hopes that he comes up with something. If it had been one of his kids, he never would have given up wondering either.

* * *

With reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, Judge Markway pores over the warrant application Ryan and Esposito are presenting to him, before glancing up at the detectives. "So you two honestly think that you can track down a mass murderer in the files of Con Ed and the railroad?"

"We're going to try, Sir," Esposito assures the jurist. "And we do have the resources of Out of The Cold behind us."

"Oh yes, the pet project of the Beckett-Castles. I'm still amazed that Rick was OK with Kate's name being first." Markway scribbles his signature. "Good luck wading through the records of the corporate bureaucracies. You're going to need it."


	5. Chapter 5

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 5

Ryan points at his computer screen, "Javi, I think I've got something. This guy, Rodney Disher, worked for the electric company ten years ago in billing and serviced the railroad company account. He could have easily worked out a way to hide the excess usage for the freezer car." Ryan displays a copy of Disher's DMV record. "Look at him. He's slight, with dark hair. And his description says he's five nine. Remind you of anyone?"

"Besides you?" Esposito asks, biting into a powdered sugar-covered jelly doughnut and brushing away the flurry of white that falls to his tightly fitted shirt.

"Not me. His eyes are brown, and mine are blue. And I've got muscle. I can press almost as much as you can. But really. Think about our vics. Don't they all look like that?"

Esposito runs his hand over his freshly close-trimmed hair. "You might be right. But what of it?"

Ryan swivels to face his partner. "Serial killers have signatures, right? Maybe, for some reason, our perp only kills guys who look like him."

"But how about the connection to the freezer car?" Esposito queries. "This guy doesn't look like he could climb a pole at all, let alone carrying a roll of cable. That stuff is heavy, man."

"He wouldn't have had to do it himself. In his position with Con Ed, he could have put in a work order. Then all he would have to do is get the bodies over to the freezer car and lock them in. The railroad company only has one guard on duty. The killer could have learned his schedule and ducked him. You've seen that place. He could pull a car or a truck practically up to the rails. Then he could have dragged the body or used a dolly or something to get it into cold storage."

"Even if you're right, Castle Junior, how can we prove it? The yard doesn't have cameras and any tire tracks from 10 years ago would be long gone."

"But if Lanie or Murray gets anything off those bodies, at least we know where to look for a match."

* * *

"How about a date?" Castle proposes. "You want to do dinner and a movie?"

Kate's brow contracts in wavy lines. "Babe, what are you talking about? I can't be away from Callie that long. Not yet."

"So we take her with us. We can order some delightful cuisine for pick up. A lot of the better restaurants are offering that now. Then we take it to a drive-in. There's one right near Columbia. We can stuff ourselves on fine dining and watch the movie while Callie sleeps in her safety seat in the back. Then if she needs your services, you're right there."

"You know, Babe, that could actually work."

"I know, right? It's a school night. Alexis will be here with Custos. And who knows? Mother may even straggle in, and I for one, don't need a discourse on how fasting and introspection lead to better clarity in the creative process - especially not the fasting part."

"OK. What's playing?"

Castle pulls out his phone. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

"I just love these guys!" Castle exclaims, grabbing one of the triple chocolate brownies the restaurant packed for dessert. "Just goes to show that a true warrior is never over the hill."

"I'm sure Roy Montgomery would appreciate that sentiment."

"Yeah. How's that investigation in California that he's overseeing going?"

"Jake Lipman, you met him at the OOTC meet and greet, is trying to track down the original person of interest. So far he hasn't had any luck, but Montgomery said there was a new lead, and…" A protest sounds from the rear seat. "I'm being paged."

"I'll get her out of her safety nest. You get comfortable, and I'll be right back."

* * *

Jake doesn't mind checking into the Jackpot Jungle in Las Vegas. He's never been one for gambling; he's too aware of the odds. But he loves Vegas buffets, and the Jungle has a great one - especially the shrimp cocktails. The OOTC operative believes that he's traced John Simmons, who now appears to be going under the name of Jack Tracy, here. The job overseeing the recreational program for kids while their parents feed coins into hungry slot machines opened up not long after Simmons vanished from California. Tracy has been at the hotel-casino ever since, and except for hair color, which is easy enough to change, the descriptions match.

The Jackpot Jungle features a children's indoor amusement area, with jungle themed play equipment, upstairs adjacent to the grand buffet. With any luck, Jake can observe Tracy supervising there, get an idea of his interactions with the kids, and establish a tail. That will give him a better idea about how to "accidentally" meet up with Tracy. Jake's hoping for a chance to buy the man drinks - lots of drinks - and get him talking. He'll have to improvise, but he's good at that. After 30 years on the force, mostly undercover, he's had to improvise a lot. He has pictures of his grandkids in his wallet. That's usually good for striking up a conversation with someone who works with children.

The idea of Tracy being around the kids gives Jake a few shivers. He hasn't seen anything similar to what happened to Jeremy Bursor turn up in any news reports so it could be that Tracy was either innocent or complicit in some way, but given his alibi, didn't commit the murder. Either way, Jake's going to find a way to check the guy out. And if he gets in some good eating along the way, that will be a bonus.

* * *

Usually, Callie falls asleep after Kate nurses her, but not at the movies. Castle doesn't know whether it's the glow from the screen or the sound emanating from the car-mounted speakers, but his younger daughter is wide awake and not happy about it.

Rick paces back and forth across the parking lot near the concession stand cuddling Callie against his chest. She's already had a healthy burp, on his Mystery Writers of America golf shirt, so he doubts that the problem is gas, but she starts crying again every time he stops moving, so he's keeping up the pace. Kate offered to take over, but she fed the baby and fair is fair; the date was his idea. He can see the screen and make out some of the dialogue from the speakers provided for purchasers of overpriced popcorn and even more overpriced Milk Duds.

Before Callie launched her barrage of complaints, Castle had been toying with the idea of an old-fashioned make-out session with Kate. With the console separating the two front seats and Callie taking up the middle of the rear ones, the logistics would have been questionable, but where there's a will, there's a way. Unfortunately, infant laments quickly strip away the will - at least until he and Kate are back at the loft.

The screen brightens with an explosion, backlighting heroic figures striding away, and the credits begin to roll. He nuzzles the soft hair at the top of Callie's head. "Time to go home, little one." Callie immediately stops crying and snuggles into her father's body.


	6. Chapter 6

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 6

"Is she down?" Kate asks as Castle slips into bed beside her.

"She never really woke up after she fell asleep at the drive-in. Maybe she's having baby dreams of aging but still-invincible heroes. In any case, we're awake."

Kate slides her hand across his thigh to his burgeoning heat. "Yes, I can feel how awake you are."

"Kate, if you're not in the mood I understand. It has been a long day, and I can just step in the shower and…"

She runs her fingers up and down his growing length. "Don't be an idiot. When you suggested a drive-in, I think we both knew what you were thinking about and you know that Dr. Francis said I could do whatever feels comfortable. Right now, turning over and going to sleep wouldn't be comfortable for me at all."

"Me either," Castle confesses. "So, how would milady prefer to proceed?"

"Rick, just shut up and kiss me."

Their lips come together in sweet collision, as Rick wraps his arms around Kate's rapidly slimming form. "God, you feel good!"

Kate presses her palms to the firm breadth of his back. "So do you, and I want to enjoy every inch of you."

"That would be my pleasure, and I mean that literally."

Kate grabs handfuls of well-rounded musculature. "Your walks with Custos are keeping you in shape - great shape!"

Rick rings Kate's breast with kisses. "And motherhood is doing wonders for you - despite the sleep deprivation and endless need for calories."

"That's not the only thing I have an endless need for."

"Whatever I have is at your disposal."

"Disposal is not exactly what I had in mind." Kate grinds against his hardness, sending waves of even more urgent need surging through them both. "Babe!"

Lips welding again, they join. Rick pulls back at Kate's shudder. "Are you all right? Maybe it's too soon."

Kate shakes her head, and plunges her fingers into his hair, drawing his mouth close to hers again. "Not soon enough."

Their tongues parry and thrust as they move in time to the accelerating pulse of the blood in their veins. Rick's breath comes in gasps as he can feel the pressure rising within him, even as Kate tightens around him. The jolt comes with no warning tremor but triggers surges of aftershocks. Rick draws her against his side as strength slowly flows back to their limbs. "I think from now on, we should make the drive-in a habit."

* * *

From across the street, Ryan looks through mini binoculars at the man picking up his order at a Java Hut. "That's Disher, and it looks like we're lucking out. His name is on his cup. We shouldn't have any trouble retrieving it from the trash when he throws it away."

"If he throws it away," Esposito responds. "He could take it home with him. Then we'd have to wait for it to land in his dumpster before we could legally grab it."

"What's wrong with you?" Ryan prods. "You've been in a mood all morning."

"I was having a beer at the Black Cherry last night, and Lanie came in with that lab rat."

"You mean Terry, the forensics guy at OOTC?"

"Yeah, him. I don't think she saw me. The two of them took a booth together, ordered some girly-looking cocktails and got all kissy-face."

"And you got all jealous. Javi, staring at Lanie all moony-eyed over dead bodies isn't going to get you anywhere. If you want to get something going with her, you've got to say something. Ask her out man! There's no ring on her finger, and if she and Terry are exclusive, she'll tell you. At least you won't be moping around in limbo. Whoa, hold on! Looks like Disher's leaving. Get your dragging butt in gear and let's go."

For a New Yorker, Rodney Disher traverses the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, sipping his coffee, with Ryan and Esposito hanging back to avoid being spotted as they follow him. Finally, after tipping it up to catch the last drops, Disher tosses his empty container in a litter basket and continues his stroll. Ryan and Esposito turn to each other, exchanging grins. Disher's DNA will be easy pickings.

* * *

Jake's new "buddy," Jack Tracy, should be arriving to meet him at the breakfast buffet any moment. Jake's stomach tightened as Tracy studied the pictures of Jake's grandchildren with what appeared to be longing, and Jake thanked God that the kids are 2,600 miles away in Connecticut.

While successful at striking up the appearance of a friendly acquaintanceship with Tracy the day before, Jake hadn't gathered much information. Tracy did admit to having lived in California, so Jake's pretty sure he has the right guy, but then the conversation shifted to how see-saws weren't what they used to be and the disappearance of sturdy metal merry-go-rounds in playgrounds. As it turned out, the two men both have a taste for seafood. Tracy informed Jake that while shrimp aren't available at breakfast, smoked salmon is. Jake has his doubts as to whether the pink delicacy will be up to the level of New York lox, but he has his hopes.

Tracy waves as he approaches and the two men begin loading up their plates together before taking a small table a few feet from the rattle, clink, and flash of the slot machines that beckon the diners. A delighted shout and the clatter of coins in a tray show that the casino is already spreading joy - fleeting as it may be.

"Sounds like someone hit a big one," Jake notes.

"You don't play the machines much, do you?" Tracy queries. "Nothing over a few hundred dollars pays off in coins. The casino has to get tax information before it will pay off a win of any substantial size. Do you prefer the tables?"

Jake shrugs. "I stick with blackjack. My wife has always been a fanatic about bridge - not so much for the game but competing for who could provide the best snacks," he replies truthfully. "You have to learn to count cards to play a halfway decent hand, and I used to practice playing 21 with the kids. That didn't help much with the four deck shoes they use here, but at least I'm not depending on blind luck. I had to be in town anyway on business, so I've played a little. Do you use the casino?"

"Not much," Tracy admits. "I did when I first came, but you work around here long enough, you realize that in the end, the house always wins."

Jake has his opening. "Why'd you leave California?"

"I had a cloud over my head. A couple of things happened - no fault of mine either time. And I thought I knew who might be responsible for one of them, but the guy had a lot of clout - with politics and money. So I figured it would be better to leave and start over. And I like it here. It's cheaper than California. I bought a little house outside town. Once you get away from the strip, it's like most other places - families trying to have a life and take care of their kids. And I love my job."

A mental inventory of rich California politicians runs through Jake's mind, while he finishes the last of his salmon. "Well good for you. It's great to meet someone who's found his place. I think I'm going to take another run at the buffet. The crabmeat looked pretty good."


	7. Chapter 7

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 7

Lanie's eyes narrow at the sight of Esposito's fidgeting hands and shuffling feet. "Javi, if you wanted to check on the results of Disher's DNA, you could have just called me. Or you could have gotten them from CSU if they were finished running them, which they're not. And I'm not finished with what's on the bodies either. Neither is Dr. Murray. What are you really doing here?"

Esposito clears his throat, swallows, then clears it again. "Um, I got a couple of tickets to the Tobias Strange magic show this weekend. I was wondering if you want to go."

Lanie's head bobs forward. "Javier Esposito, did you think I didn't see you watching me when I was with Terry at the Black Cherry? You know I'm going out with him, so why are you asking me to go with you?"

Esposito takes a step back. "I didn't know how much … I just thought… Hey, forget it. I'll ask my friend Ray to go with me."

"Hold it right there!" Lanie commands as he turns to leave. "Look, Javi, Terry and I are friends - OK, very good friends - but we haven't made any promises to each other. We were having a good time at the Black Cherry, but that's all. I'm not after any commitments right now. I'll go with you this weekend, but I'm keeping my options open. Can you live with that? Cause if you can't, you should keep right on walking away."

Javi turns back to her. "Yeah, I can. I'm not looking to get tied down, either." An addition of "yet," never makes it to his lips.

"Good," Lanie agrees. "Then we'll see if any magic develops."

* * *

Kate's eyebrows rise. "You're going out with both Javi and Terry?"

"Kate Beckett-Castle, don't you try to tell me that you've never been interested in two men at once. You were making goo-goo eyes at that robbery detective while you got jealous every time Rick looked at another woman. And before that, you were making out with that FBI agent Sorensen, while Castle was following you around like a puppy.

"I'm not blind. I could see Javi watching me, but he never made a move. Terry's a great guy, and we have fun together. But if Javi's ready to get his act together … I mean you and Rick got together eventually. I'll give Javi his shot, and if it doesn't work, then we'll both know we should look elsewhere."

Kate nods slowly. "I get your point. Just try not to hurt him, OK? Under that macho exterior, he's a sweet soul."

"I know, Kate, or I wouldn't be bothering with him."

Rick wanders into the loft with Custos just as Lanie is leaving, stopping to scratch the dog behind the ears on her way out. "Did Lanie come over on her lunch hour?"

"Uh huh. She wanted to talk about something."

"Esposito, I'll bet. It buzzed through the men's room at OOTC that Terry and Lanie saw him watching them the other night. So, did he finally gut it up to make a move on her?"

"Not the kind of move you made on me. He didn't take a bullet for her. But they're going to see Tobias Strange. Have you ever heard of him?"

Castle's mouth gapes. "Heard of Him? Kate, he is the magician of magicians! Ever since I was a kid, I've loved magic. I used to pick up bottles for the deposit so I could afford to buy tricks at Drake's Magic Shop."

Kate springs from her spot on the couch. "I loved that place too. My grandfather - on the Beckett side - was an amateur magician. He used to take me there almost every weekend. It came in handy when I became a detective."

"Knowing that things are not always as they seem?"

"Exactly, but you taught me even more about that, looking for a story that goes beyond the evidence."

"I'll take that as a compliment. But even my creative mind has trouble picturing your father as the son of a magician - he's so…"

"Boring?"

"I was going to say, straight-laced."

"He wasn't always. When my mother was alive, they used to have a lot of fun together. They liked different things, sometimes. You know he's into baseball, and she never was. She liked to ice skate, and he never wanted to get near a rink. But they'd go to all the ethnic festivals in New York together, and try all the foods. Sometimes he'd buy her a mantilla or one of those garish blouses with the ruffled sleeves. And he taught her to row on Central Park lake. He told me he's looking forward to having adventures with Callie, too - besides taking her to ball games."

Castle frames Kate's face in his hands. "That's really great. I missed having a grandfather like that. Mother's parents weren't around when I was a kid. They were carnies and couldn't stay in one place for very long. And without knowing who my father was, I had no way of knowing my other grandfather. Callie is a lot luckier than I was. She has two parents who love her and grandparents as the cherry on top of the sundae.

"Ooh, and speaking of sundaes, my route with Custos wended its way past the sweet shop. They are featuring potato chip fudge - limited time only. I tried it last time it came up in the rotation, and it is amazing. If your dad comes over, we could take Callie and all walk over together. There's always vanilla if he wants to stick to his present less adventurous ways."

Kate stretches on her toes for a kiss. "Actually, Dad's favorite ice cream is coffee - with chocolate sprinkles. And I think he'd love a walk with Callie." Kate's phone dings with a text. "Murray got enough DNA off one of the bodies for Terry to put together a phenotype. Our killer is medium height with brown hair and brown eyes - which matches Disher. As soon as CSU finishes their analysis, we'll know if the boys have the right suspect. Lanie thought that would be a few hours yet, at least."

"And how do you plan to fill the time - other than tending to the intake and output of our daughter?"

Kate consults her watch. "Temptation Lane is going to be on any minute."

"Would you like to cuddle up and inhale the intrigue? I have two episodes of Dr. Who on the DVR that I haven't watched yet either. I could make popcorn. I bought some of that caramel stuff you like to put on it. We can pretend we're at the drive-in - but with better sound quality."

"Sounds like fun," Kate agrees.

* * *

From across the way, Jackson stares through his scope into the Castle - no, Beckett-Castle loft. He had a glimpse of Callie when Kate showed her off to her friend. He can't see much now. Neither Richard nor Kate is anywhere near the windows, and the baby is most likely asleep. He wishes he could act like a doting grandparent like Kate's father, who's been to the loft more than once that Jackson's observed. But hell, Hunt can't even be a doting or any other kind of a father to Richard. He can't see how, but maybe someday. For now, the best he can do is keep watch.


	8. Chapter 8

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 8

The excitement in Ryan's voice vibrates through the speaker of Kate's cellphone. "The DNA's a match, Beckett. Disher's the killer. Javi and I are going to go pick him up now."

"Any chance of me getting in on the interrogation?" Kate asks.

"That could be a problem," Ryan admits. "If Montgomery were still here, he wouldn't think twice about it, but the new captain, Victoria Gates, just transferred from IA and she's by-the-book all the way. I heard her nickname is 'Iron Gates,' and it fits."

Rick comes up behind Kate, planting a kiss on her neck. "Hey, Ryan, do you think a call from Weldon might be the key to Gates' lock?"

"Oh, hi, Castle. I don't know. Even Montgomery was political, but it might just piss her off. Let me ask first. If she says no, you'll have nothing to lose by playing the mayor card. But please make sure she doesn't think it's my idea. She'll put me on desk duty - or worse."

"Message received," Castle acknowledges.

"Do you know anything about Captain Gates?" Castle inquires as Kate shoves her phone back in the pocket of her slacks.

"No more than you just heard from Ryan," Kate admits. "Roy always did a pretty good job insulating his people from IA. They had to check out our shootings, but he made sure they intruded on our work as little as possible. I've heard Gates' name a couple of times, but I've never met her. It looks like I might be about to."

* * *

Victoria Gates tosses her reading glasses on a stack of forms on her desk. She became aware of Kate Beckett when the young woman beat Victoria's record for making detective by six weeks. Then there was Richard Castle. As much as 1PP appreciated the excellent PR, Gates never approved of having a writer trail after a cop, no matter how many favorable write-ups it spawned for the department. In her view, police work should be done by members of the force, something Kate Beckett-Castle no longer is. That the mayor should intervene to overrule her judgment is galling, but there isn't much she can do about it.

Weldon assured Gates that if she didn't agree to accommodate Kate, the next call she would be receiving would be from his golf buddy the commissioner. Kate Beckett-Castle will be in on the Disher interview, but Gates will be watching from observation. If Kate doesn't get the answers that they need from Disher, she'll be ready to step in and take over. At least the ex-detective won't be bringing the hack she married along for the ride.

* * *

Jake Lippman pulls into the parking lot of a hotel in Long Beach, not too many miles from the park where Jeremy Bursor was found. It's not as flashy as the Jackpot Jungle, but that's a relief. Shrimp cocktails aside, the twenty-four-hour cacophony of the casino was wearing on his nerves. Now he has some straightforward research to do to determine who was exerting the kind of influence that could have put an end to an investigation in the area, at the time Jeremy was murdered.

After decades pounding the streets, these days Jake prefers sitting in halls of records, libraries, and in front of computers, to wearing through shoe leather. The library will be as good a place as any to start. He can begin going through back issues of the Press-Telegram. Over the years he's learned that politicians who exert a lot of influence end up in the paper in two places, either the front page or the tiny blurbs recounting local activities. In this case, he'd put his money on the latter.

* * *

With Ryan to his left and Kate to his right, Esposito faces Disher and a public defender across the table. Disher hardly looks like he needs the shackles that chain him in place. As loose as his clothes are over his skinny body, the man could have used a trainer. It doesn't take much to kill a guy in his sleep, but who would have guessed that this snowflake had done it 22 times - at least that many that they know about. "You like frozen meat, Disher?"

The serial killer's lips are pressed together. "My client is asserting his right to remain silent," young attorney, Grace Meacham replies.

Kate looks at Esposito, who signals for her to take over. "Well, then he can listen. Twenty-two frozen bodies with your DNA on them, Rodney. You authorized power for the freezer car that held them. You hid the charges. The police found the murder weapon hidden in the ceiling of your apartment, and the remnants of blood on it match several of your victims. There isn't a jury in the world who wouldn't convict you or a judge who wouldn't send you away for multiple lifetimes in the roughest prison. But you might be able to help yourself if you can make us understand why you did it. Why would you plunge an ice pick into 22 hearts?"

"I'd like to consult with my client," Grace Meacham requests.

Ryan leads the way out of the interrogation room. Exiting observation, Gates intercepts Kate. "Ms. Beckett-Castle, the powers that be gave me no choice in accepting your presence here, but I want you to know that so far I'm impressed. You have Disher, and his lawyer rattled." Gates points her folded glasses at Kate. "When you get back in there, go for it. Go for it hard."

"Yes, Ma'am. That's what I plan to do."

"Please, don't call me ma'am, that's my mother, or worse, my mother-in-law. You can call me captain or Victoria."

"Yes, Captain, and it's Kate. My husband sent along some incredible coffee I can use in the machine he bought for the break room. Can I make you some? He still does it better, but he's taught me a few tricks."

Gates flicks one eyebrow upward. "Yes, I imagine he has. Thank you; I'd love a cup."

* * *

"My client is prepared to tell his story," Grace Meacham announces as Kate, Esposito, and Ryan re-enter the interrogation room, "but it is conditional on his receiving a complete psychiatric evaluation before he pleads to anything or there are any further legal proceedings."

Gates comes to the door of the room and nods. "Fine," Esposito agrees.

"Start at the very beginning," Kate instructs, "with your first victim. But if you lie to us, or try to twist the truth, your chance for any kind of a break will be over. We'll put the D.A. in the mood to make sure of it."

Disher runs his fingers over the links of the chains attached to his cuffs. "I met Martin, he was the first, in my last year of college. He liked numbers, the way I do. He even looked a lot like me. I thought that being into math, instead of being a jock was why no one accepted me. I couldn't even get a girl to go out with me, except for my cousin - and my aunt made her. But everyone liked Martin. I needed to figure out why so I offered him free rent in the apartment I inherited from my grandmother. Lots of other students came over, but they were all there to see Martin, and even when I bought the beer, they still liked him better. I couldn't understand it; they should have liked me too.

"Then one night Martin asked me to go to a movie or the library so that he could be alone with a girl named Autumn. She was beautiful, like her name. She even had red hair that reminded me of turning leaves, but she barely looked at me. When I came home, Martin was alone, asleep in his bed, but the room had that smell. He and Autumn had made love. I couldn't stand it anymore, knowing that someone like her would be with him but not with me. I made sure it would never happen again. But it did. No matter how many Martins whose hearts I stopped, it just kept happening."


	9. Chapter 9

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 9

"Was the motive love, money, revenge, to cover up another crime, or is Sleazer the Freezer just a raging nutbar?" Castle inquires.

Kate presses two fingers to her chin. "Love, I think, with a little revenge thrown in, but a shrink will have to determine just how much of a nutbar he is. That was the deal. Could be that he'll spend the rest of his life in a prison psych ward, not a cell. Either way, he won't be stabbing an icepick into any more hearts."

Drawing Kate in for a hug, Castle rests his jaw against the top of her head. "Sounds like you did a good day's work. I gave Callie the milk you expressed, but I think she'll still be happy to see Momma."

"I'll be happy to see her too. I could use a little innocence right now - and a long shower."

"She's in her bassinet in my office. We were keeping each other company while I wrote. I hung that mobile Alexis made over her. She seems to be enjoying her big sister's attempt at kinetic art. Custos likes it too. For a minute, I thought he might try to eat it, but he just sat on the floor next to the bassinet and watched it move."

"Eyes are always attracted to the bright and shiny. That's how magicians make misdirection work."

"And on the subject of magicians, how did Lanie's date with Esposito go?"

Kate pulls back. "Babe, that is absolutely none of your business."

"Of course it isn't," Rick agrees, nodding vigorously. "That's exactly why I want to know. Besides, it will give me some direction for their counterparts in my book."

"Actually, neither one of them has said anything about it. Espo had plenty of chance to, today, while Disher was conferring with his lawyer, but he never even mentioned Lanie's name."

"I don't know whether to take that as a good sign or a bad one."

"I don't know either. Maybe I'll find out next time I see Lanie. We're supposed to be hitting the stalls on Canal Street together this Saturday. She wants to have some time with her goddaughter, so I thought I'd take Callie with me. We'll have lunch out too. With Callie in her carrier, I can undo the inner zipper to nurse her, and no one will know the difference. It will give you some time to do whatever manly things you do while I'm gone."

"I think that I do some pretty manly things while you're here, but if you're referring to watching the Lance DeLorca movies you disdain, I may be able to fit one in."

"Nice to know you're planning to immerse yourself in a cultural experience. After I see Callie, I'm going to immerse myself in hot water."

* * *

Jake blows his nose into the last tissue of the pack in his pocket. He can't understand why he can be perfectly healthy slogging through the snow in New York or Connecticut and catch a cold the minute there's a day that's damp and a few degrees cooler in California. Or maybe it's the mustiness of old newspapers. Either way, it's blurring his vision enough to make it difficult to read the small print. He almost misses a mention of former mayor Pete Russo. It's the eighth one he's run across so far, all in reference to exerting some kind of influence, whether exemptions to zoning laws to accommodate a business he favors or pushing through appointments of city officials. He even arranged for a section of a park to be closed down for his daughter's sweet sixteen. Why Russo would have anything to do with the murder of Jeremy Bursor, Jake has yet to find a clue, but Russo seems the best fit to Jack Tracy's description of the man he believed to be responsible for the boy's death.

The detective pushes his chair away from the table he's been using to spread out yellowing pages. As soon as he returns the papers to where they belong, he'll take a walk to the nearest place he can buy more tissues. Perhaps inspiration will hit along the way.

As he's traversing the sidewalk between the library and the nearest market, Jake notices the faded outline of a name - Bursor - on a building next to a parking lot. He had no idea that the family had possessed any commercial real estate. He's pretty sure that Jeremy's parents don't own any now. OOTC had taken their case on the sliding scale set by the board, and as far as he knows, for the Bursors, it had slid pretty low. Next stop, the Hall of Records - as soon as he gets his tissues, and maybe some eyedrops.

* * *

"Javi, you shouldn't be here," Lanie protests. "I have work to do."

"Yeah, well, so do I," Esposito retorts. "We still have to identify some of Disher's victims. We already ran the prints. I thought I'd check with you about more DNA results or anything else you found."

"No luck yet, but OOTC wangled access to some databases that the N.Y.P.D. isn't hooked into yet. Kate should call you if they get anything. But I think you know that either one of us would do that."

"Yeah. OK, I do," Esposito admits. "But I thought we had a great time together and I wanted to see you. Something wrong with that?"

"That I'm in the middle of an autopsy. But, I'll be free for drinks or dinner later, and I'm in the mood for something French."

Esposito grins. "I could go for that. Pick you up at seven?"

"I'll be ready."

* * *

Roy Montgomery studies the resume of a young detective. The woman has been living in Minnesota, so he's never met her, but her record looks good. Her cover letter said that her husband is being transferred to New York, so she's looking for someplace worthwhile to work in the city, and the N.Y.P.D. has a hiring freeze. He swore at that. Budget crunches always hit the force. He had to deal with enough of them in his thirty years. She's moving to New York that weekend. He sends her an email asking her to come in for an interview once she gets settled.

Lisa Anderson smiles when Roy Montgomery's email pops up on the screen of her phone. Come in for an interview. Right. She'll do that, blow the old bastard's socks off, and establish herself with Out of the Cold. She can take her time making her plans, but when she's ready, Montgomery won't know what hit him. She's been waiting a long time to avenge her father.

Perry Watson was sent to prison by Roy Montgomery. Lisa didn't even know it at the time. Her parents had never married and had separated years before. She was away at school and had lost contact with Perry. By the time she concluded that Montgomery had trumped up evidence that her father had committed murder, it was too late to do anything about it. But now she'll have the perfect chance.

Her husband Eric was surprised that she was so enthusiastic about his transfer. She'd never wanted to go back to New York before, even for a vacation. But a short trip would not have given her a chance to accomplish her task. Once she's signed on with OOTC, she'll have all the time and opportunity she needs.


	10. Chapter 10

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 10

In dread of receiving his next credit card bill, Esposito ushers Lanie through the entrance of La Maison Nouvelle. The maître D' smiles tightly as he leads them to the table Javi barely managed to reserve. That it was last in the queue is obvious. Its proximity to the kitchen puts it right along the path of busy servers. But it's also near the restrooms; someplace his dates inevitably need to go before an evening ends.

Lanie seems happy enough as the waiter arrives to offer menus and recite the specials. If it weren't for the similarities of French to Spanish, Javi wouldn't know what the man is talking about, and even so, there are a couple of dishes he can't fathom. He's relieved when Lanie decides to order from the bill of fare, which features English translations. Why she'd want to come to a French restaurant just to order what looks like a chicken breast, is beyond him, at least it's far from the most expensive thing on the menu. He's tempted by the onion soup but doesn't want to sabotage any action he might get later. The house wine, sold by the glass, seems safe enough - and it isn't half bad.

The form-fitting dress Lanie is wearing feel like an invitation for his eyes to wander lower than her face, but he doesn't dare. He remembers when she rebuked Castle for staring at the girls, even if everyone could see that he was only hot for Beckett. It's hard to believe how that turned out. Ryan said that Castle chased Beckett until she caught him. Is that what's going on between Javi and Lanie? Has she been playing hard to get? He doesn't think so. Up until now they just haven't been able to get their signals straight.

Lanie stares as he shifts nervously in his chair. "Are you missing a big game or something, Javi?"

He attempts to appear more relaxed."No, the Browns are playing, and everyone knows how that will come out. Talk about snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory."

"I've seen guys look calmer than you before taking their exams to get into med school. So what's wrong?"

Javi takes a swig of his wine. "I just want things to go good tonight."

She reaches across the table to touch his hand. "They're going fine, so settle down, and let's just enjoy our meal."

Esposito grins at her. "As you wish."

* * *

Jake pages through the copies of the records he obtained on what was formerly the Bursor building. It had never belonged to Jeremy's parents, but it belonged to Jeremy's grandfather and his father before him. It was part of a parcel they owned on the street between the Hall of Records and a small shopping district, dating back to the horse and buggy days. There had been no parking lot then, or a need for one. The Bursor General Store had occupied that patch of land. It had evolved into an old-fashioned five and dime and finally the Bursor Specialty Shop.

Jake's found no evidence that the elder Bursor had financial difficulties or a reason to sell his business - but he sold it after Jeremy died. He could have done it out of grief, or because he received a threat that something worse could happen - if there could be something worse than the death of a little boy. Russo would have had a hand in approving the demolition of a building and its replacement by a parking lot. Those actions would have clearly been a conflict of interest for him if he made an investment in the venture, but if he were corrupt, that wouldn't have stopped him. Digging into Russo's financial history will take some serious forensic accounting. That's not Jake's area of expertise, but OOTC has access to people who can handle it. Jake plans on requesting their services ASAP. It's after regular working hours on the East Coast, but he can call Montgomery or Kate Beckett in the morning.

* * *

Lisa Anderson turns around slowly on the scuffed hardwood floor, surveying the New York City apartment she and Eric rented. If they had stayed in Minnesota, they could have had at least twice the square footage for less than half the rent, but space is not what she needs. Neither she nor her husband will be there much. Most days, Eric will be at work from early morning well into the evening. Keeping his nose to the grindstone is how he earned the move to New York.

Her husband's schedule is OK with Lisa. As a detective, she worked a lot of hours and enjoyed doing it. Working kept her hands active, and her mind sharp. She's sure that her record will also earn her a spot at OOTC. She knows all about Kate Beckett - Kate Beckett-Castle now. Anyone who reads Richard Castle books is acquainted with his muse. She bears Kate no ill will. Like Lisa, Kate had to cope with the unjust loss of a parent. Lisa's just interested in Montgomery.

She was never able to get a copy of the N.Y.P.D. file on her father's case. She had to piece together what happened from newspaper accounts. Perry's fingerprints had been found on a wine bottle at the scene of the murder. The victim's blood was also on his clothes and shoes.

That was just crazy. The Perry Watson she knew had been a gentle man, and she'd never seen him drink. He and her mother fought, but then all couples fight, don't they? She and Eric have a dust-up occasionally when they have the time to see each other. It doesn't mean anything. To Lisa, there's only one possibility. Someone other than Perry Watson committed the murder that sent him to prison and Montgomery faked and planted the evidence to further his career. Somehow she's going to prove it - or get him to admit it. But her first step is getting hired.

One of the perks of Eric's transfer is that the company paid for the packing and unpacking of all their things. She strides into her bedroom and opens the characteristically small New York City closet. Her clothes are all fine for Minnesota - warm and sturdy. Even her party wear has a substantial look to it. For her job interview at OOTC, she wants something with more flair.

She remembers from her earlier years in New York that the upscale stores, especially downtown, were not open particularly late. Pulling out her phone, she checks the time, automatically adjusted to the Eastern zone. She has at least a couple of hours to shop. A career dress, not too formal and not too casual, is what she needs, and if she can find shoes and a purse to go with it, all the better. Tomorrow morning she will be the incarnation of perfection.

* * *

Alone, Lanie settles into her bed, feeling a twinge of loneliness. She could be sleeping with Javi. At the slightest signal that she was ready, he would have been all in. But she isn't ready. She's not sure when or if she will be. Sometimes she's jealous of Kate. It took her friend long enough to admit that she wanted Castle, but even when being stalked by killers, she'd never seen Kate so happy. And Castle is ecstatic, if possible even more so since Callie was born. Lanie would love to see that look in the eyes of a man she's with. She knows that she'll never see it with Terry, as much as they enjoy each other. And she's not sure she'll ever see it on Javi either. She'll have to wait and find out.


	11. Chapter 11

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 11

With a cop's eyes, Montgomery studies Lisa Anderson. She'd managed to move up in her department in Minnesota, but she's still not old enough to be too set in her ways to integrate into the OOTC organization. She's dressed to impress. That's not unusual at a job interview. She smiles as she extends her hand, but there's a hardness to her eyes. He's seen that before, from survivors of traumas but also in the eyes of criminals. If she's the former, it isn't in her record, but there is no evidence of the latter. Still, his instincts make him wary.

Lisa takes the seat in front of his desk that Montgomery indicates, and looks around his office. It's not huge, but it isn't small either. He's not at the highest level at OOTC, but he's not low-ranking. Lisa suspects that he answers to Kate Beckett-Castle, and wonders if that's annoying for someone of his age and experience. Regardless of how he feels about having a female boss, Lisa can kiss up a little. That gambit is usually effective for her with men, especially older ones.

Montgomery has pretty much memorized what's in Lisa's file, but he opens it anyway. "Ten years on the force, high evaluations, two commendations. Out of the Cold is a non-profit. You could make better money working for some of the security firms in town; why did you decide to come to us?"

Lisa leans forward in her chair. "I'm not interested in guarding celebrities or politicians. I was proud of doing real police work - serving the public. Money isn't really an issue. My husband makes a good salary, has some family money, and we don't have any children to support."

Montgomery nods. "So, what do you see yourself doing for Out of the Cold?"

Lisa smiles again, the glow still not reaching her eyes. "Pretty much what I did as a cop. Investigate. Track down leads. Find murderers."

Montgomery steeples his fingers. "Out of the Cold has impressive facilities. Our lab is more up-to-date than any in this country. We have a computer network with substantial access to data - but we can't do what cops do. We can't convince a judge to give us access to private records, and we can't go knocking down doors. The most we can do is gather enough information to take to the police for an arrest. After your years as a cop, can you live with that?"

Lisa regards the man she's determined to take down. "I think that working here is just what I need."

"Fine then," Montgomery agrees. "You'll need to fill out some paperwork, for taxes, insurance, that kind of thing, but welcome to the Out of the Cold family."

On her way to the subway, Lisa stops at a Java Hut for an extra-large macchiato. She deserves to celebrate.

* * *

"Was that Roy Montgomery?" Castle asks as Kate slips her phone into the pocket of her blazer.

"Uh huh. He just hired a new detective, Lisa Anderson."

"Ooh, another female gumshoe. You could be Nancy Drew to her George."

"Castle, you know that George is a girl? I can't believe that you read Nancy Drew books."

"When you spend as much time in the public library as I did as a kid, you can go through a lot of mysteries. Nancy and I had something in common. We each only had one parent. And she solved every case. What could be better than that?"

"Not much," Kate admits. "But I think teaming up for detective derring-do will have to wait until Callie's a little older." She wraps her arms around Castle's waist. "Besides, I have a partner."

"That you do," Castle agrees, pulling her closer. "You know, Callie is asleep, mother and Alexis are gone for the day, and I already walked Custos. We could do a little partnering, not of the crime-solving kind."

Kate unfastens the top button of his shirt. "We could at that." She pulls out of his grasp. "Last one naked in the bed does the next diaper change."

Castle kicks off his shoes. "I'll take that challenge."

Castle barely wins the race, with Kate tumbling in on top of him. She's warm against his skin, her breasts even fuller to accommodate Callie's increasing needs. Rick has a need of his own, getting bigger every second. Kate slides down his body, pressing her lips to his burgeoning heat. He reaches for her most sensitive spot, rubbing it to fullness with the tips of his fingers. "Me for you and you for me?" Rick proposes, his breath propelled unevenly by his lungs.

Kate shifts positions in answer, allowing him access to her growing desire. Warmth rises from their skins, engulfing them in a moist fog, as they taste each other's longings.

Rick can feel his release approaching first, and sups more deeply to bring Kate along with him. The headboard bangs against the wall as simultaneous cascades overcome them, and they sink against tangled sheets, drained but replete.

Kate fights through her lethargy as the baby monitor transmits Callie's demand. Fair is fair. The diaper change is hers. But God, it was worth it!

* * *

On his laptop in his hotel room, Jake scans through the postings on the website of the local historical society. The Bursors are a featured family, right back to 1902 when the first electric trolley in Long Beach spurred the growth of business. Homer Bursor, Jeremy's great grandfather, built a row of buildings, with stores to serve the community. Sales declined during the depression, but he held on to pass his legacy on to his son. As the coastal city continued to grow, the Bursor family flourished - until it didn't. The stores were sold to an H.G. McGraff, who razed one to build a parking lot. So what if any, is the relationship of H.G. McGraff to Pete Russo?

There are no other mentions of McGraff on the historical site. Jake tries a genealogy reference instead. He can trace the McGraff family back to Canada and further back to Scotland. No connection to Pete Russo there. Checking further he finds that the Russo family arrived from Italy in the 1920s, coming ashore at Ellis Island. Most of it stayed on the East Coast, but James Russo went out to California, where he married a Mary McGraff. Mary had a younger brother, Herbert George - H.G. Pete Russo is the son of Mary and James and the nephew of the man who bought the Bursor property.

The story is coming together. Pete had a possible motive, but Jake still doesn't have a shred of proof that Russo was involved in the death of Jeremy Bursor. He'll have to dig deeper, but he has an idea of where to start. If H.G. McGraff obtained the Bursor buildings through criminal means, there might be other properties in town with similar dark histories. Now that he knows what to look for, Jake can dig up those transactions and perhaps even find someone who knows more of the Bursor – Russo -McGraff story. Whatever holdings the Russo family has in California should be illuminating. More dusty records. It's a good thing he bought a six-pack of jumbo boxes of tissues. Right now a large bowl of chicken soup wouldn't hurt either; he just wishes he could get a New York pastrami sandwich to go with it.


	12. Chapter 12

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 12

"How do these look?" Lanie asks, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

Kate regards her friend's face. "That depends on whether you want to try out for a part in a reboot of Miami Vice."

Lanie sticks the glasses back on the rack in a Canal Street vendor's stall. "You're right. I don't even know what I'm looking for down here. Usually, I love hunting for bargains, but today, I can't get into it."

"You want to go somewhere and talk?" Kate suggests. "I know you don't do coffee, much to my husband's horror, but there's a juice bar a block over. No bear claws, but they have some pretty decent organic muffins."

"Sounds OK," Lanie agrees, shifting her tote bag on her shoulder.

With Callie quietly nursing under the cover of a front carrier, Kate sips an orange and pineapple juice mix, while Lanie holds a blend of orange and carrot juices and nibbles on a slice of zucchini bread. "Let me guess; it's about Esposito. You never told me how things went on your date at the magic show."

"The magic show was great, and he asked me out again. We went to La Maison Nouvelle."

Kate whistles. "That sounds more in the range of Rick's bank account than Javi's."

"Probably. The place is a throwback. The menu they gave me didn't have any prices, but Javi started pulling at his tie when he saw his. When I ordered, I went as simple as I could. Honestly, Kate, when I suggested something French, I thought he'd take me to Jacques, that little place down the block from Remy's that sells the soups, salads, and cheese plates. I would have been fine with that. But he went all out."

"And that bothers you?"

"Well yeah. I mean, I don't want him spending all his money on me when I haven't decided yet if I really…"

"Want to be serious with him?" Kate fills in.

"Right. Girlfriend, I'm not sure I want to be serious with anyone - at least not until I believe I can be with someone the way you are with Rick."

"It did take me two years to get there."

"That's because you're an idiot. Everyone could see the sparks between you two from your first case together. You knew they were there, too; you just weren't willing to admit it."

Kate slams her juice container on the table, "I was all wrapped up in my mother's death. You knew that."

"So did Rick. He was willing to wait for you to get your head straight, and you let him. You knew he'd be there because he wasn't really interested in anyone but you. Damn, girl! The man was willing to die for you. He still is. And I'll bet you'd be willing to do the same for him. I just don't know if I could ever feel that way about Javi, or he could feel that way about me."

Kate picks up her drink again. "So, what are you going to do?"

Lanie shrugs. "Play it by ear, I guess - and not ask for any more French food. Until I get this figured out, I think we'll stick with pizza and burritos."

Kate steals a morsel from Lanie's snack. "Then, I should probably warn you that Espo's favorite topping is double jalapeños."

Lanie's eyes turn heavenward. Great!"

* * *

Not many people are around Out of the Cold on a Saturday morning. Montgomery said something about going fishing but told Lisa she was welcome to come in and get herself acquainted with the computer system. She's getting acquainted all right, using the subscription services to find everything she can on Roy Montgomery and the Perry Watson case.

OOTC has access to all the public records, including court transcripts. Lisa scans painstakingly through Montgomery's testimony. She wishes there was video so she could see the lies on his face. Obviously, the jury couldn't. But none of the facts seem out of place. Her father's defense attorney questioned everything along the chain of custody but wasn't able to expose any flaws.

Montgomery's answers were straightforward and to the point, highlighting the facts without any other implication of Perry's guilt. That makes no sense to Lisa. If Montgomery were trying to move up by getting her father convicted, she would have thought he'd have been more emphatic about it. She convinces herself that doesn't matter. Perry Watson could not have been guilty. That means Montgomery planted the evidence - somehow. He was just being meticulous about what he said.

Maybe she can go at it from another angle. Her father had to have an alibi. If she can find it, she'll have proof that Montgomery was lying. After all these years, it won't be easy to retrace her father's steps, but with the resources of OOTC, she'll find a way to do it.

* * *

Custos is restless, which to Rick, seems unusual for the guardian of the Beckett-Castle household. He is totally devoted to watching over Callie. Perhaps it's her absence. Stuck trying to craft an unwieldy paragraph, Rick decides that a long walk would be good for both him and the dog.

Jackson Hunt moves the last of the few personal things he owns into the apartment across the street from Rick's loft. He'd been using the unoccupied space as an informal observation post, but now he's rented it outright. At least he'll be close to his family. He has a feeling that the dog knows something is going on. The canine jumped up against the windows facing Hunt's new residence several times that morning. Well, good for him. The shepherd is on his game. That's reassuring to Jackson.

Hunt stretches his muscles. It's not as easy hauling stuff as it used to be. It's not as easy doing much of anything. Theoretically, he's way past the age of retirement from the Company, but in his line of work, you never are really out until you're six feet under. Even if he can't be stricken from the rolls, it's nice to catch a break from the action. Activities are going on in countries that most Americans don't even know exist, but at this time, nothing that requires his particular brand of attention.

Jackson uses his scope to get a good view into the Beckett-Castle loft. Richard is holding a leash. He must be getting ready to take the four-footed member of the clan for a walk. If they're going to the park, Hunt may be able to beat them there. It will give him a chance to observe his son from afar. It won't be the same as being able to talk to Richard, and he wishes the baby would be going along, but it will be better than nothing.

As usual, the kids in the park are drawn by the enormous furry dog, whose owner assures their parents that he is safe to pet. Custos is as ever patient, even as little fingers tug on his ears. Rick's eyes wander from the scene to the tall white-haired man watching from a bench fifty yards away. God, is that his father? From that distance, he can't be sure, but if the old man was nearby, that could account for Custos' behavior. Despite the children's adoration, every so often, Custos glances in the man's direction. If he is his mother's one-night paramour, Castle is determined to talk to him.


	13. Chapter 13

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 13

Rick walks Custos down the path to the bench he suspects holds his father. As he gets closer, he's more convinced that the man is the one his doorman saw and that he's had glimpses of before. The family yip from Custos, as the fellow in question gets up and turns away, seals the deal. "Wait!"

As Jackson Hunt strides away, Rick runs after him, with Custos out ahead. With a press of his massive body, Custos blocks Hunt's retreat. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" Hunt demands.

"I'm pretty sure you know that," Rick answers. "If my dog didn't believe you were family, you'd be on the ground. I believe it too. I think you're my father. I think you shot a Russian who was trying to take out my wife - and possibly me. And I think you've been hanging around and watching my loved ones. What I don't understand is why you couldn't just knock on my door and say hello."

Hunt laughs and runs a hand through his hair in a motion eerily like his son's.

"That might give Martha quite a shock."

"Believe me, after all her years in the theater; Mother doesn't shock easily. But she might be mad as hell that it took you so long. And you didn't answer my question. Why did you let me grow up without a father, and why are you here now?"

Hunt takes careful note of everyone in the area to make sure he won't be overheard, and motions for Rick to take a seat beside him on the bench he'd previously occupied. Eyes alert, Custos lays at their feet. "Look, Richard, I can't go into details, that would just make it more dangerous for you, but the work I do could put anyone near me in the crosshairs. Family, friends, any relationship could be deadly to both of us - to Martha, Kate, Alexis, and the baby too. So I stay away, and I'll keep staying away. But I care. I always have, and I've done my best to keep an eye on you."

"Then I suppose, the $64,000 question would be, why did you sleep with my mother in the first place? Why am I even here?"

"Because I was stupid. I was in love, and I didn't know that an assignment would go very badly. I had to get out of the country fast. It was a year before I even knew I had a son, and by then, it wasn't safe to go near Martha or you. It still isn't. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be."

"Other than Mother's family, I don't even know where I come from. Do you have a name?"

"Hunt, Jackson Hunt."

"That sounds made up."

"It is. But you come from good stock, Richard. No genetic diseases that I know of."

"How about genes for baldness?"

Hunt chuckles. "None of those either. You'll keep your hair. But if you want to keep your life, it's best that you forget I exist."

Rick scrubs his palm down his face. "Forgetting things is one skill at which I have failed to excel."

Hunt rises from the bench and stares down at his son. "Then you're going to have to get better at it. If you see me around, I'm not part of your family. I'm just another stranger."

Custos yips as Hunt walks away, and Rick buries his fingers in the comforting warmth of the dog's thick coat. "You know better, don't you, boy? He may still be a stranger, but he is family."

* * *

Zev Levi, head of Out of the Cold's IT department, knocks on the frame of the open door to Montgomery's office. "Roy, I was going over the computer logs. I noticed that your new detective, Lisa Anderson, logged in on Saturday morning."

"Uh huh. I told her she could come in and run through the tutorial and get to know the system."

"Does she have a case?"

Montgomery's brows lower. "No, why?"

"You asked me to tell you if I saw any activity from her that I couldn't account for. She signed on to Pacer and requested access to the transcript of a trial." Zev hands Montgomery a sticky note. "That's the docket number."

Montgomery stares at the numerals written on the slip of paper, feeling a twinge of familiarity. "Thanks, Zev. I'll look into it."

When Roy brings up the court document, he realizes why he recognized the designation. It was Perry Watson's trial. Montgomery didn't have too many cases go beyond arraignment or preliminary hearing. Almost all of them ended in a plea deal. But Perry Watson had insisted on a jury trial. He'd testified on his own behalf, swearing that he was innocent. As far as Roy knew, he'd never claimed otherwise. Maybe he was hoping to gain the sympathy of one of the chosen twelve and get a hung jury. It didn't happen.

Perry Watson went to prison, and as Roy understands it, died there. Until that moment, Roy hadn't given the case much more thought, but obviously, Lisa Anderson had. The question is, why? Could it have something to do with him? Suddenly Lisa's reason for applying to work at OOTC seems less convincing than it did at her interview.

* * *

Kate leaves Callie sleeping in the newly staffed childcare room before going to see Montgomery. He'd sounded concerned when he called earlier that morning, and she'd planned to spend some time at OOTC that day catching up on cases in progress and fielding any new ones. She wants to go over the report from Jake Lippman, which is turning out to be quite a story. The man has a genius for finding connections in old records - a lot like Rick. She also wants to meet Lisa Anderson, but Montgomery requested a meeting as soon as she arrived.

Roy follows Kate into her office. "I wanted to talk to you before you say anything to Anderson. Something's not right with her, Kate."

"Did she lie on her application?"

"Not about anything I've been able to find. Then, I didn't think she had a reason to look up the records of one of my old cases either. But she did, so I did a little more digging into her background. Anderson is her married name. She grew up under her mother's name, Durell, but her father's name is Watson. She's the daughter of a murderer I sent to Sing-Sing."

"So, you think she's here to get revenge?"

Roy shakes his head. "I have no evidence of that. For all that I know she could just have been using OOTC facilities to review her father's case. Maybe she wants to make amends for his actions. But Kate, we need to watch her."

"We will, Roy. Did you keep up your carry permit?"

"Yeah. After all those years, having a little extra insurance against the bad guys is a hard habit to break."

"I know," Kate agrees. "I carry too, but Rick says I'm going to have to rethink it when Callie's fingers get big enough to operate a trigger."

"He has a point about that. When I'm home with the kids, I always lock my weapon in my safe, but I have it here."

"Good. Until we figure out what's going on, make sure you keep it on you around Anderson."


	14. Chapter 14

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 14

"You're back to your wrinkly brow," Rick notes as Kate returns from OOTC. "Trouble? Is Callie OK?"

Kate unzips her carrier, handing her daughter to Rick. "She's fine. She's nursed twice and been through four diaper changes. You get the next one. No, I'm worried about our new hire, Lisa Anderson - and Montgomery. Coming from Minnesota to New York, she decided she wanted to work at OOTC. And now it turns out that Roy sent her father to prison for murder."

Air whooshes through Rick's pursed lips. "That can't be a coincidence."

"Hardly," Kate agrees. "Zev tagged her research on her father's case. I'm worried that she's here to get back at Roy somehow."

"You could fire her."

"That would only make it harder to figure out what she's up to."

Rick circles his palm over Callie's back as he cuddles her against his shoulder. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?"

"Exactly. Roy will keep an eye on her. And Zev will track her searches. But I hate having to suspect anyone who works for OOTC."

Rick shifts Callie enough to brush Kate's lips with a kiss. "I know. But whatever Lisa is after, you and Roy will work it out."

* * *

Lisa has never been in Leather Balls before. Most of the time she previously lived in New York, she had been too young to be in any bar, but one thing she does remember about Perry Watson is his passion for Rugby. Leather Balls is one of the few places in the city that he could have been with other fans. If she can get to know someone who might have been around at the time of the murder - maybe, just maybe - she'll find an alibi for her father.

Video of a game in New Zealand is playing on a large screen, with patrons gathered around commenting on the skills and failings of the various players. From what she remembers hearing from her father and her research, Lisa has a pretty good idea what they're talking about. In between sips of beer and nibbling on pretzels, she makes an occasional comment of her own, until she's able to strike up a conversation with a white-haired man in a striped shirt much like she remembers Perry Watson wearing. When she throws in a phrase she can recall coming out of her father's mouth; her new acquaintance gapes at her. "I'll be damned if Perry didn't say the exact same thing!"

Lisa feels a chill skitter across the surface of her skin. "Are you talking about Perry Watson?"

The older man nods slowly. "I am. But you would have been a child when he came here. How did you know the poor fellow?"

Lisa's fingers tighten on her beer. "He was my father."

The white beard reaches out to pat her hand. "I'm Morey, and I'm sorry. What happened to him was a shame. I'll never believe he did what he was accused of."

"I'm Lisa, and I've never believed it either, but what makes you so sure?"

"I saw him, the day he was supposed to have… I'm sure you know about it as well as I do. He was here for lunch. There was a special on beef sandwiches that day. Almost everyone had them, including your father and me, and got sick as dogs. I think some of the customers ended up in the hospital. The health department closed the place down for a few days while they investigated. Turned out one of the refrigerators was running below temperature because of a brown-out. After that, the owner bought one with an alarm. But I don't think anyone who went through that mess would forget it. There's no way your father would have been in a condition to kill anyone. He probably would have never made it far from the bathroom. I told the police that too. But I couldn't tell them I witnessed him being sick, because it took a few hours to hit us. And then when that other evidence came out, no one would have paid attention anyway."

"Did you talk to a cop named Montgomery? Black, about six feet tall?"

Morey shakes his head. "It doesn't ring a bell. The fellow I talked to was named Napolitano. I remember that because it made me think of striped ice cream. I love the stuff. Anyway, he wrote down what I said, but I don't know if he passed it on or not."

"So Montgomery might not have known," Lisa mutters to herself.

* * *

Jake Lippman paces painstakingly through the playground where Jeremy Bursor died. He found almost nothing more in the records to point to Pete Russo, so he decided to walk the murder scene. It's evident that it's changed a lot. The equipment has a lot of brightly colored plastic instead of the kind of heavy metal he remembers playing on when he was a child.

The sand that surrounded the toggle board is gone, and the entire play surface is covered with rubber mulch, the type he's seen when taking his grandchildren to the park. He can't help wondering when that change took place and who would have pushed the city to pay for it. Could Pete Russo have done it to cover up evidence? To call that kind of a connection a long shot would be an understatement, but at the moment, it's all he has left. And if a playground were updated, it would have been worth a few lines in the Press-Telegram. He'll have to check. At least he has some tissues left.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Ryan asks as Esposito heads for the elevator.

"This little store opened up on the way to the subway. They have chains and charms - the kind of things girlfriends like. I thought I'd check it out."

"Javi, you and Lanie have had what, two dates, and now you want to buy her jewelry. Isn't that pushing things a little?"

"Three dates. We went to the Enchanted Enchilada last night."

"Still, jewelry? Wouldn't it be better to start with one of those Jambo Juices Castle used to bribe her with? Unless you two…"

Esposito shuffles back to the bullpen and sinks into his desk chair. "Let me holler atcha. She didn't give off the signals. You know what I mean?"

"Oh yeah," Ryan commiserates. "Been there. But you go after her too hard, and you could turn her off completely. Ladies do not like to feel pressured. I have my best times with Jenny when she comes after me."

"So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Give her a chance to make a move. Next time a body drops, or you need to pick up a report at the morgue, bring her a bear claw or something - the way Castle always used to bring Beckett coffee. Then see what happens."

"I guess I could do that."

"Good. Then you can stay here and help me with all the paperwork Gates piled on us until we get a fresh one. I'll even order pizza - but the jalapeños are only going on your half."

"Yeah, fine," Esposito agrees, "and I'm not getting near any of that pineapple you like. Who the hell puts pineapple on a pizza, anyway?"

"Jenny does - with Canadian bacon. She got me into it."

Esposito slaps his hand on the surface of his desk. "Man, that woman has you roped in so tight!"

Ryan leans back in his chair, grinning at his partner. "Well, maybe I like that kind of bondage."


	15. Chapter 15

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 15

Esposito loudly blows his nose. It doesn't help. His nose is still clogged, and his head feels like it's grown two sizes. Damn pollen count! The stuff he used to get off the shelf at the drug store helped, but since it was identified as a raw ingredient for meth cooks, he can't just grab it. It's stowed behind the pharmacy counter. Stuffed up as he is, he can't remember the name of the drug in the pills, so he can't ask to buy them.

Lanie will know. If she sees him in his current condition, it might even get him some sympathy. He and Ryan don't have a real case, so he's already called in sick. He might as well make a trip to the morgue. Right now, he feels like he belongs there.

Looking up from her work, Lanie instantly notices Esposito's ruddy nose and even redder eyes. "Javi, what are you doing bringing your germs into my lab? You should go home."

"It's just ragweed," the detective argues. "It kills me every year. I just can't remember what medicine I have to ask for to clear my nose."

"You really are miserable, aren't you? Are you talking about pseudoephedrine?"

Esposito starts to nod and thinks better of it as his forehead throbs. "That was it."

Lanie shakes her head. "That stuff may clear your sinuses, but it's still like taking speed. It will make you even dumber than you feel now. Look, I almost never do this. I prefer patients who can't talk back, but I am licensed to write prescriptions. I'll give you one for something better, but after you pick it up, I want you to go home. I can't have you stumbling around like that. You might hurt someone. You hear me, Javi?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good. If you're lucky, when I get off work, I might even bring you some chicken soup."

* * *

Flashlight in hand, Roy Montgomery searches through the boxes in the basement of the 12th Precinct. He can remember long ago catching Kate Beckett doing the same. It was awkward obtaining authorization from Victoria Gates, but she granted it as a courtesy to the former captain.

The corrugated container holding the evidence and files in the case of Declan Williams, Perry Watson's victim, is not overflowing. It contains the weapon, clothes and shoes stained with blood, Roy's report, and some notes he doesn't remember seeing before, from a Detective Napolitano. He vaguely remembers Napolitano, who was already a detective when Roy was a rookie. The older cop had never moved further up in the ranks and took his pension after twenty years.

Napolitano's handwriting is not the easiest to decipher, but Roy makes out something about food poisoning reported at a bar where Watson was a regular. Roy shakes his head. He doesn't recall checking anything like that out, but if he can find this Morey Sewell who claimed that Watson would have been too sick to commit a murder, Roy will listen to his story. If there's a chance that he missed a possible alibi for Watson, he has to know.

* * *

Kate quirks an eyebrow when she sees the foam that Rick's sculpted to look like fireworks on top of her latte. "Are we celebrating something?"

He hefts his mug in a toast. "You bet. Callie went five hours between feedings last night. I timed it. That's almost sleeping through."

"Unlike you, I regard a full night's sleep as closer to eight hours than five, but I do feel more rested," Kate admits. "I went over all the active cases at OOTC yesterday. I'll be getting a phone report from Jake Lipman this evening, but otherwise, my day is clear. You want to do something together? We can take Callie with us."

"The 'take Callie with us' part is an immediate constraining factor, but what did you have in mind?"

"I know Callie won't remember what she experiences, but maybe we can play tourist. You know, visit the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State building. Or we could walk around Times Square. It's been a long time since I've done it, and she'll enjoy the motion."

"I'm with you on Times Square. M&M's World, The Disney Store, and Midtown comics are all there. It would be like an early Christmas. And I think the billboards will fascinate Callie. She always tracks bright, flashy things. We can't miss The Strand Book Store either. Might as well hook our daughter early on inhaling the literary essence."

"Great! I'll pack the diaper bag if you want to make a reservation for parking."

Rick fishes his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants. "On it!"

* * *

Jake studies copies of two newspaper articles published at almost the same time. One gives scant details on the murder of Jeremy Bursor. The other outlines in detail why Pete Russo rushed through the replacement of the sand with rubber mulch in the playground where Jeremy died. The author doesn't mention Jeremy but details Pete's insistence that children be protected from picking up cigarette butts and catching diseases from animal feces. The councilman made a good argument, but it also might have been a very convenient one. Could he have been afraid of some evidence being discovered in the sand?

"Cigarette butts," Jake repeats to himself. They are routinely analyzed now for DNA, but even back then, they were checked for brand and blend. Is it possible Russo was afraid he left one behind? Does the man even smoke, and if he doesn't now, is he one of the many that bowed to social pressure to quit?

Jake flips open his laptop to bring up images of Russo. They wouldn't have been posted to the internet at the time of the murder, but people upload old family photos all the time. He squints at the pages of thumbnails of Russo. There! Russo posing with a group, decades before - and he has a cigarette in his hand. There's a chance there might be a butt preserved in an evidence box somewhere - not a big chance - but a chance. If OOTC can pull some strings to get Jake access, Terry and his fancy new toys might be able to work their laboratory magic.

* * *

Rick studies a display of Disney princess action figures from Ariel to Snow White. "Which one do you think Callie will grow up to be like most?" he wonders out loud.

Kate follows his gaze. "The way she enjoys her bath, I'd guess Ariel."

"But Ariel wanted to live on land," Rick protests. "Callie was born with all that hair, and now she has even more of it. Rapunzel maybe? Or Mulan, a warrior woman like her mother."

Kate's hip bumps against Rick's. "You know you're dying to buy all of them, and that Tigger you were staring at when we came in. You might as well grab what you want and take it to the register. I need to get something to eat. Just smelling all the chocolate at M&Ms World made me hungry, but I'm not going to eat what we bought there for lunch."

"It wouldn't be nearly enough anyhow, the way you burn calories these days," Rick teases. "OK, I will let my credit card take a hit, and you can choose your luncheon spot."

Kate circles her lips with the tip of her tongue. "I already have. We're going to the Shake Shack."


	16. Chapter 16

Chipping Away at the Ice

Chapter 16

Sighing with contentment, Kate sucks up the last of her shake. "I needed that."

Rick picks up a French fry. "So, I see. Do you want to order another one?"

Kate ponders for a moment before shaking her head. "I think that will do it. We really should head back soon. I want to get Callie settled before Jake calls."

"Ah, another chapter in the California search for justice. You know, I may use Jake as a character. I've never featured a detective with grandchildren, but I think one would resonate with some of my readers."

"You mean the grandmothers who try to grab your ass at book readings?"

"Among others. But you don't need to be jealous. The only hands I enjoy contacting that portion of my anatomy are yours."

"Good to know." Kate sniffs. "And I think that portion of Callie's anatomy could use a change. I can take her to the station in the ladies' room while you finish your fries and take care of the check."

"I knew I was good for something," Rick quips.

During the ten minutes before the valet delivers the car, Callie is protesting the wait, despite her proximity to Kate, in her carrier. "I can take her for a while," Rick offers.

"How?" Kate wonders. "You're carrying half the stock from the Disney Store."

"Says the woman jealously guarding her new stash of M&Ms. But you gave me an idea. If you hold the smaller bag, I can put the big one down and get out something to amuse our restless princess." Rick retrieves a small, winged figure, activates its flashing LED light and tinkling sound, and pretends to fly it in and out of the field of Callie's vision. "If you believe in fairies, stop crying," he implores his daughter.

Callie's lament immediately ceases as her wide blue eyes track the magical toy.

Rick grins at Kate. "See, you've just got to believe."

Their SUV pulls up to the curb as Kate is rolling her twinkling eyes.

* * *

Montgomery finds Sewell on his well-worn stool at Leather Balls. There's no game up on the screen, but the older man is enjoying a thick sandwich with a side of waffle fries.

As Montgomery takes the seat next to him, Morey wonders if it's a coincidence that the unfamiliar new arrival fits the description Lisa gave him of a cop named Montgomery who testified against her father. The tall black man orders an imported beer. If nothing else he has good taste. "Rugby fan?" Morey inquires.

"My son is learning the game," Montgomery explains. "But that's not why I'm here. Did you know a Perry Watson?"

Morey slams his fist on the bar, rattling bowls of pretzels. "If you're the cop who sent him to prison, haven't you caused his daughter enough grief?"

Montgomery runs his hand over what's left of his close-cropped hair. "Listen, I don't want to cause anyone grief, but I believe there may be a wrong to be righted, and I think you may be able to help me. I never saw anything about it until this morning, but did you tell a Detective Napolitano that Watson would have been too sick to kill Declan Williams?"

Morey spits his words through clenched teeth. "For all the good that it did. All of us who had those sandwiches were down for days, and I watched Perry eat one. The cramps kept coming, even after everything we'd had for a week came up or out. There is no way Perry could have made it through his own front door. I am as sure that he didn't kill that man as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow. Maybe surer."

Montgomery nods. "Then maybe Lisa and I can prove it."

* * *

Jake Lipman's call comes right on time, while Rick is making Tigger dance for Callie. "Ms. Beckett-Castle, if OOTC has a supporter who has clout in Southern California, we could sure use it right now."

"Kate, please, Jake. What have you got?"

"Maybe nothing, but it will take some juice to find out. We need the evidence from Jeremy Bursor's case, and since it's still officially open, no one but police personnel can get authorization to go near it."

Kate chews on her lip as she muses. "I think one of the women that Winston Bergeron coaxed to join the OOTC Board has connections there. I'll give you a call and let you know. Any idea what you're looking for?"

"An idea," Jake confirms, "and if I'm right, Terry will have some work to do."

* * *

Lanie stirs thick liquid a Dutch oven, breathing the spicy vapors. The Soup Nazi decided he didn't like her and refused to sell her a container of chicken soup, but what she's cooking up could be even better. Her mother has always claimed that gumbo made from the family recipe can intimidate a cold into submission. Lanie hopes it will do as well for Javi's allergy. She pours it into a hotpot. She would have preferred the tureen she uses for gatherings, but one jostle on the subway could spell the end of the delicate porcelain.

Javi had almost given up on Lanie showing up, but the intercom to his apartment buzzes at 8:30. He gets rid of used tissues and straightens the cushions on the couch while she's on her way up. He keeps his bachelor crib neat. A man never knows when he might get lucky, and since he took the pills that Lanie prescribed, he is feeling better. When a woman comes to you, who knows what can happen?

Lanie's changed out of her scrubs. The shirt and slacks she's wearing look sexy, but she'd look hot in anything. Fantasy images swirl through Esposito's brain.

"Javi!" Lanie snaps her fingers in front of Esposito's face. The goofy look fades from his features. She shoves the insulated soup dispenser in front of his nose. "Here."

Esposito takes the thermal container, puts it on a table that serves for both eating and gaming and walks the few steps to his tiny kitchen area. "You want to share?" he offers, reaching for the cabinet where he keeps the few dishes he uses.

"Sure," Lanie agrees. "We might as well sweat together." She covers her mouth with her hand. She didn't mean it that way - or did she? Other than the slackening of his jaw, Esposito doesn't respond to the comment, while he sets out bowls, two spoons, and adds napkins as an afterthought. "I have a bottle of high-class wine I won off Castle when we played laser tag. You want some?"

Lanie wonders if Rick parted with some of his Chateauneuf-du-Pape, but she doubts it will go with gumbo, and Javi shouldn't be having it with antihistamines anyway. "No, thanks. Water is good." Esposito hands her a plastic bottle wishing it was better than the store brand.

The soup is even spicier than Lanie remembers, and a thin layer of moisture is coating her nose and forehead. Given Javi's taste in food, it's probably mild to him, but he looks hot too. Damn! What is she thinking? She's always loved the "nurse-him-back-to-health" fantasy about wounded heroes. It's one of the reasons she went to med school before she developed her fascination for forensic pathology. And Javi's not wounded. He's got hay fever, for God's sake. Still, maybe the heat she's feeling is what she's been hoping would take hold.


	17. Chapter 17

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 17

It takes Lanie a moment to realize where she is and that the warm body beside her is Javier Esposito. She reaches over the side of the bed to check the time on the cellphone that was still in the pocket of her slacks when they landed on the floor. Six a.m. If she hurries, she won't be late to work. She can grab a quick shower and change into scrubs in the locker room at the morgue.

Javi is still sound asleep, congestion buzzing in his nose. There's no reason to wake him, but she can leave a note to let him know she's not just walking out - or away from him. They need to talk, but they can do that later. And she wants some time to process what happened.

* * *

Hunt examines his targets at the upstate CIA training retreat. He's never scored this poorly before, and very rarely missed the innermost circle. Pretty sure his eyes aren't as sharp as they once were, he considers getting them checked out by an eye doctor still willing to take cash. Hunt's not entirely sure of the steadiness of the rest of him either.

Ever since Richard confronted him, or if he's honest with himself, perhaps slightly before, Jackson's been feeling the razor-sharp edge he's always maintained, beginning to dull. He's still faster and more alert than most men, especially the ones in his age bracket, but for his profession, that's not nearly enough.

Hunt also hates that he had to cancel his lease on the apartment he rented across the street from Richard's loft. It wasn't so much the financial penalty. After all the time he was assigned to godforsaken holes where he couldn't have spent his hazard pay if he tried, he has more money stashed in various numbered accounts than he will ever need. He's not nearly as wealthy as Richard, but then he hasn't written 26 best-selling books either. And what would he spend it on? He can't even manage to keep a decent apartment, let alone a beach house, a country cabin, or any of the fancy toys his son loves. He never built a circle of family and friends the way Richard did, either. Maybe he'll make a donation - anonymous of course - to Out of the Cold. It's as good a cause as any and better than most.

Perhaps it's time to change course. Leaving the Company remains impossible, but he has knowledge and skills to pass onto the new generation looking to serve the country the way he did. There's always Camp Peary in Virginia or one of the facilities that doesn't come up on a Google search.

Hunt would like to be assigned somewhere close enough to New York City to keep watch on his family and spend time with Rita when she's not on assignment. That's a conversation he'll need to have with the top honcho. He could do without a trip to Langley, but that's where the power sits. And while he's down there, he'd also have access to the Company's medical staff. No doubt they have an eye chart or two.

* * *

California state assemblywoman Maisie Takei ends her conversation with Kate Beckett-Castle and immediately makes another call. She and Mayor Jeanie Tran have been through a few campaigns together, trying to keep the constant extraction of oil from fouling the beaches, and public lands from being seized by private interests.

Getting Jeannie to intervene with the police department so that a detective from Out of the Cold can get into evidence they put in storage years ago, won't be tough. Who would dispute the need for giving grieving parents some peace? She was going to call Jeannie anyway. With the economy recovering, the housing market is beginning to pick up, and Maisie wants to make sure that financial predators who took advantage of many of her constituents before the Great Recession and the subsequent legislation aren't attempting to crawl out from under their rocks again. She lays a slip of paper with the number Kate gave her for the OOTC operative on the table in front of her. She should have some good news for him soon enough.

* * *

It's the first time in a while that Rick has been at the conference table at Black Pawn. Large reproductions of the covers of foreign language versions of his books are set up on easels around the room. He'd known, of course, that the books were being translated. The royalties from overseas sales can't be hurting his net worth, but his business manager keeps track of that sort of thing.

Gina Cowell flicks a button and projects a chart on a screen behind her. "This is a graphic of the sales of Richard Castle books outside of English-speaking countries. As you can see, we are doing very well in South America, Germany, Switzerland, and even the Balkan countries, particularly Serbia. The most enthusiastic Castle readers, however, are in France. The audiobooks in French don't do as well, but sub-titled video interviews with Castle get millions of hits. Black Pawn conducted a market study which showed that many French fans regard Richard as physically funny the way the French thought Jerry Lewis was. In light of that, our foreign sales division thinks that when we put out the newest Nikki Heat in French, having Richard do a book tour in France could generate huge sales. That would be coordinated with interviews on French television and a romantic television movie about how Richard's books were inspired by Kate Beckett and the two of them fell in love. The French are also hungry to get a look at the Beckett-Castle baby."

"I'm all for generating sales," Rick interrupts, "and wouldn't mind a family junket to France. I'd love to show Paris to Kate. But I draw the line at exploiting my daughters - either daughter. Sure as hell, no one is going to stick a camera in an infant's face. I'll also have to ask Kate how she feels about her life - her real life - being invaded that deeply. But whether or not Kate's willing to go along with the additional publicizing of our story, Callie Beckett-Castle - and Alexis Castle - are strictly off limits to the publicity hounds. Otherwise, I develop an allergy to French wine, French cheese, and particularly French interviewers. Are we clear?"

Gina's expression is impassive, but Rick can see the hardening of her eyes. "You've made your point, Richard. And let us know what Kate says - soon."

* * *

Jake carries the box holding the evidence from the investigation of Jeremy Bursor's murder to a table, where he can examine its contents. He pulls on a pair of nitrile gloves he purchased at the drugstore, before lifting the lid. Most of what's inside is predictable; the little boy's clothes, the reports, pictures of the crime scene. But there's one small manila envelope in a bottom corner. He unfastens the clasp and peers into it. Turning his eyes to the heavens, he thanks Columbo, the patron saint of detectives. A cigarette butt has been perfectly preserved within its heavy paper shield. He's not going to risk express mail. He'll be on the next plane to New York to present it to Terry himself.

A/N In case you missed it, I posted the second chapter to my The Rookie story, The Way Back. Among other things, it gives my version of the results of the exam.

Also, if there's a joke, it's on me. I loved watching Columbo, but I never realized the significance of the lead character's name until I researched this chapter of this story.


	18. Chapter 18

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 18

"They want us to go to France?" Kate questions.

"They do," Rick confirms. "I told them that you'd have to agree, but there are so many great things we could do there, the wineries, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and I love the cheese."

"I've always thought you were cheesy, but we can't go now, at least I can't. OOTC has hot cases going. Jake should be getting on a plane any minute to bring evidence back for testing. Then there's Lisa Anderson. And isn't Callie a little young to fly?"

"We can check with her pediatrician about that, but Black Pawn isn't talking about right now. Assuming you're on board with having one, the script isn't written yet for the Beckett-Castle romance TV movie yet. An even without that, the PR people would have to plan the tour. It could be months."

"What TV movie?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention that. The chronicling of the greatest love story ever told - ours."

"I thought the greatest love story was supposed to be about Jesus, but no way, Babe. Being the inspiration for Nikki Heat is one thing, but I don't want our real private lives up on the screen. Interviews are intrusive enough."

"I told Gina you'd probably feel that way, but I promised to pass on the message. Fine, no movie, but I would still love to show you the City of Lights. My guess is that things can be set up within a couple of months. Alexis will be out of school, and she can go with us. I can do whatever I'm booked to do, and we can make the rest of it a European holiday."

Kate taps her index finger against her lip. "Assuming that the doctor gives the go-ahead for Callie to make the trip, I guess it will be all right. I have always wanted to see the Louvre."

Framing her face in his hands, Rick presses his lips to Kate's in a hearty kiss. "It will be great. Paris is for lovers, and who is more in love than we are?"

* * *

Roy looks up as Lisa strides uncertainly into his office, where Kate is sitting beside him. "You wanted to see me?"

Roy waves her to a chair. "Have a seat. Lisa, I'll get right to it. We know you're Perry Watson's daughter and that you were using OOTC resources to look into his case." Roy holds up a hand as Lisa opens her mouth. "Your coming here made me take another look at it. The short story is that I got Terry to run the evidence. What was on your father's clothes and shoes didn't belong to the victim. Samples must have been mixed up somehow. It was most likely his own blood. He may have been sick enough to hurt himself somehow."

"Terry can confirm that by testing it against yours for a parental match," Kate interjects.

"What about the murder weapon?" Lisa asks.

"The prints were only a ten point match to your father's," Kate replies.

Lisa's knuckles whiten as she grips the arms of her chair. "That's not enough to be conclusive."

"No, it isn't," Kate agrees, "but combined with the mistaken identification of the blood, the lab concluded at the time that it was. Those prints are a 20 point match to someone who's in prison for committing five other murders. Unfortunately, he wasn't caught until after your father was convicted, so no one ever thought to check."

Lisa pushes out of her chair. "I want Terry to run my DNA right now. I need to be sure."

Roy nods. "I thought you might. He's ready for you. And Lisa, I'm so sorry. Until you came, I had no idea that there was any evidence that might have cleared your father. If I had…"

"I don't want to talk about that now. I just want to get to the lab."

Kate gazes after Lisa as the distraught woman runs from Roy's office. "What are we going to do about her?"

Roy pushes back from his desk. "Other than a little unauthorized computer usage, she didn't do anything wrong. And I'm looking at a woman right now who wouldn't have done anything much different. Let Terry do his work and give her a little time. Then we'll see. As good - and as stubborn - as she is, she might turn out to be a lot of help around here."

Kate sighs. "Aside from a posthumous exoneration of Perry Watson, this case opens up a real can of worms. How many others were sent to prison because of sloppy lab work? With the Watson case, we could be looking at a second mission.

"We're not only investigating cases that were never closed we're checking into a past conviction. Roy, our very first case with Rick could have turned out like that if he hadn't kept insisting we had the wrong guy. I even arrested him for it. And that wasn't the lab messing up. It was us not looking beyond the obvious to details only Castle saw. Maybe Lisa can be another pair of eyes to see them for us."

"I don't know if she can forgive me," Roy points out. "She's spent years thinking I framed her father. I hope she understands now that I didn't, but I still sent him to prison. That's a hard thing to get past."

"It wasn't your fault, but I guess we'll just have to see what happens."

* * *

Lanie turns as Ryan and Esposito approach. The cause of death is a new one on her. She's never seen a guy speared with a forklift before. Normally she'd consider it an industrial accident except that the body has been there for hours. A manager found it when he opened the warehouse for an early delivery.

"Talk about getting hung up," Ryan remarks, while Esposito just stares at Lanie.

Ryan prompts his partner with an elbow to the ribs. "How long has he been dead?"

Lanie is trying to look anywhere but at Javi. "I put the time of death between 10 and midnight last night. According to what the manager told the uniforms who took the call, the place was supposed to have been closed. The company only staffs it when they have merchandise to move, and there weren't any shipments scheduled. He has no idea who this guy is, and there's no ID on the body."

Ryan strokes an imaginary beard. "So what was our human shish kabob doing here?"

"And why would someone want to kill him?" Esposito wonders.

"I'll leave those questions to you two," Lanie responds. "I need to get him to the lab."

"Can I talk to you a minute?" Esposito asks while Ryan wanders off to talk to the cops who secured the scene. "After last night…"

Lanie shakes her head. "This isn't the time or the place, Javi."

"Then, what will be?"

"I'll meet you at Remy's after my shift, OK? But, for now, let's just do our jobs."

"Yeah, sure," Esposito agrees reluctantly.

"What's up, partner - other than our vic?" Ryan asks as Esposito joins him at the yellow tape.

"Damn, Kevin. I wish I knew. Women! Lanie won't even talk to me until after work."

"Just try to concentrate on the case for now," Ryan advises. "You two will figure things out."


	19. Chapter 19

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 19

As Dr. Goldman hunches over his laptop, Jackson finds his expression unreadable. "So, what's the verdict, Doc?"

Goldman snaps his computer shut. "The verdict is on your birth certificate, Hunt - your real one. You're 71 years old, and for a 71-year-old - one with multiple bullet and knife wounds - you're in remarkably good shape. Your vision is almost 20/20."

"It used to be 20/10," Hunt interrupts.

"I'm aware of that," Goldman continues, "and that was extraordinary. It's one of the reasons you were assigned to the type of work you do. But we all age, you less than many of us, apparently, but the body still wears out. Your joints aren't as mobile as they once were. Your resting heartbeat is a little higher, as is your blood pressure. They're all still in the normal range. You're perfectly healthy. You're just not a young buck anymore, and you don't have the faculties of one."

"So, what happens now?"

"My results go into your file, but what direction your future with the company will take is above my pay grade. Hunt, look at this as good news. Most of the agents who've been in your position don't survive to nearly your age. Perhaps you've been given a chance to smell the roses. After all the years you've served this country, you deserve it."

Hunt knocks on the door of director Brant's office. As usual, the man's reading glasses are on the tip of his nose, and his tie is askew. Jackson can't figure out why he bothers wearing one at all - except when he testifies in front of Congress. Unlike the FBI, the Company is far from button down, and Brant has always been more scholar than a bureaucrat. "Got a minute?"

Brant looks up from the report he's studying. "I heard you were in the building, Hunt. Come in. I have a proposition for you."

* * *

"I'll see what I can get off this," Terry promises, peering inside the tiny envelope Jake handed him. "If we're lucky, saliva soaked through the paper and into the filter, and I can extract the DNA. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything."

Jake gazes around the lab. The technology that was pure science fiction for most of his life never fails to amaze him. Something else that amazes him is how fast his grandchildren are growing. Determined to miss as little as possible, he plans to head to Connecticut to see them, at least until Terry gives him something that confirms his suspicions about Pete Russo. "How long do you think that will be?"

"If I'm going to get the most out of this, probably a couple of days."

Jake claps Terry on the back. "Great! You have my number."

* * *

Esposito fiddles with the paper wrapper of his straw while he scans Remy's entrance for a sign of Lanie. She's not late, but he was early. Ryan declared him useless and urged him to get his ass out of the precinct before he completely screwed up their preliminary paperwork.

His partner was right. He hadn't been able to keep his mind on his business. The note Lanie left him was sweet, but implied nothing about their future together. He'd thought the sex was great. It completely cleared his head - or at least his sinuses - for a while. But he has no way of knowing what it meant to her. And he needs to know if it was a sympathy f**k or she was interested in more.

Finally, Javi sees a flash of teal, the color of a lot of the scrubs Lanie wears and at least a couple of the outfits he's seen her in. He waves to attract her attention to the booth he snared. The last thing he wants right now is to be overheard by anyone at a nearby table - especially another cop from the 12th. He hands her one of the menus from the holder on the Formica-topped table. "I didn't order anything for you. I didn't know what you want."

Lanie scans the listings. "The chicken harvest salad looks good, with raspberry iced tea. But Javi, are you really talking about food?"

Esposito's about to answer when Midge, their server, arrives to jot down Lanie's healthy request, as well as his for a spicy double burger with steak fries, to go with a refill on the cola he's almost finished. He watches Midge retreat out of earshot. "Look, Lanie, I really like you, but you won't give me a clue about how you feel. I don't want to have to dance around you for two years like Castle did with Beckett. If you're just interested in booty calls, fine. No strings. We'll have a good time. But if you want more than that, I want to know."

Lanie sighs, tearing off little pieces of a paper napkin. "Javi, the problem is, I'm not sure. Up until last night, I was just having fun, but something changed. I'm not sure I know what it was or if it's even real. I need some time to find out. We both do."

"So what do you want to do now?"

"Spend some time together. It doesn't have to be any big deal; a walk, a movie, maybe a ride on the Staten Island ferry. And booty wouldn't be bad either. Then we can find out together."

"I guess I can live with that."

* * *

Lisa bustles around the kitchen of her apartment, trying to keep her hands busy. When Terry swabbed her cheek, he told her it would be a day before he had anything definitive. That's slower than the imaginary labs on TV work, but a lot faster than she got results back when she was on the force in Minnesota. Still, every moment drags.

Luckily, Eric said he'd make it home for dinner - a late dinner. It's been a while since she cooked for the two of them and she'd like to do something special that won't be ruined if he walks through the door later than scheduled. A pot of chili will fit the bill. They both grew up thinking of the dish as the relatively mild stuff that comes out of a can, but when she accompanied him on a short trip to Texas, they discovered that they enjoyed a little heat. Lisa found the fresh market near OOTC a cornucopia of ingredients, and with a bit of chopping browning and stirring, her creation will be ready whenever her husband makes an appearance.

Even applying her knife skills to peppers and onions, she can't help thinking about Roy Montgomery. For so long, she'd thought of him as a monster who made her father the victim of his ambition. She can't reconcile that vision with the regret he expressed and his efforts to make amends. It seems that Kate and Terry are also anxious to do the best that they can to make things as right as possible. No one can change the past, but it can be put to rest.

She'd expected to be fired, but neither Roy nor Kate had said a word about her future. From what she's seen so far at OOTC, she has nothing but respect for the work the organization does. She might even enjoy her job if she's allowed to keep it, but she can't make up her mind about anything until she knows for sure that her father was innocent. After that, she'll just have to see what happens.


	20. Chapter 20

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 20

Hunt leans forward in his chair. "What proposition?"

Brant lays his glasses on top of a stack of papers on his crowded desk. "You're aware of the covert training facility in Duchess County?"

"Of course. It has the best set-up for realistic sniper practice. Charlie Turner does a great job. I won't work with anyone who hasn't taken the course there."

"Unfortunately, Turner had an accident three days ago. His car was t-boned by a semi, fully loaded with sand. You can imagine what happened."

Hunt's fingers curl into fists. "Is he going to make it?"

Brant retrieves his glasses and opens a folder. "He'll live, but he'll be in rehab for months. And even after that, he won't be close to 100%. He'll be on indefinite medical leave until we can find him a spot where he can function to the best of whatever his abilities will be. The long and the short of it is that we need someone in Duchess, and I can't think of anyone more qualified to take over from Turner than you. You have the best kill ratio since Kyle, and the best instincts for keeping your skin."

"When would you want me in place?"

"As soon as you can get your ass back to New York."

* * *

"I have an ID on your victim," Lanie announces as Esposito and Ryan walk into her lab. "His name is Victor Moreno. It took some doing. His prints weren't in the database, and neither was his DNA. But we got a sibling match."

"Brother?" Esposito asks.

"Sister, actually, Anita Moreno. She was picked up for soliciting johns so her pimp could roll them."

"Nice girl," Ryan comments.

"Anyway," Lanie continues, "she's at Rikers, awaiting trial. But there's something else. Moreno was on opioids – fentanyl. I found residue on his skin. He was using high dose patches. Those are usually prescribed for the treatment of severe chronic pain. I didn't find any reason why he would need them. No cancer. No serious injuries. But he did have a scar from back surgery. My guess is he got addicted while he was healing and couldn't get clean."

"Would that have something to do with his murder?" Esposito wonders.

"Figuring that out is your problem, guys. Now go do your business. I have other work to do," she glances at Esposito," if I'm going to get out of here today."

"Did you two have plans tonight?" Ryan asks as Esposito gets behind the wheel of their unit."

"Maybe," Esposito responds. "Let's go see the sister and find out what she knows."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Ryan agrees.

* * *

Rick pulls a load of laundry out of the dryer. Even using disposable diapers, the cascade of receiving blankets, tiny t-shirts, onesies, and stretchy sleepers into the hamper is unceasing. But he doesn't really mind taking care of the chore while Kate is at OOTC.

When Alexis was a baby, he had to do everything, including all the feedings. Meredith had her eye on a role in a play that was casting not long after their daughter was born and was afraid if she were nursing she'd make a mess of her costumes. When she got the part, she almost immediately went on the road, leaving him on his own with a two-month-old infant. At least Kate picks up her share of Callie-care. And with Callie with her at work, he has some peace to write - in between washing, drying, and folding.

At the moment, Rick doesn't envy Kate her job. OOTC has received more requests for help than it can handle, and she is going through the applications to find the loved ones the organization is most likely to be able to help. Many of the deaths involved, like Johanna Beckett's, were ascribed to random gang violence. It's up to Kate to take her best guess as to whether the law enforcement agency involved investigated thoroughly enough to confirm there was no one else with a motive or indulged in lazy police work.

He can think of no one more qualified to make that determination than Kate, but it has to be painful. Fortunately, her breaks to feed and cuddle Callie seem to ameliorate the stress. There are times when he hits a brick wall in his writing when a baby cuddle can put a crack in the mortar too. When Kate has Callie away from the loft, Custos seems to do his best to fill in, pushing his furry head into Rick's lap. It may be mutual comfort since the dog always seems to be most content when the baby is under his guardianship.

Rick checks his watch. If he starts throwing together a pan of lasagna as soon as he finishes putting away the clothes, he can write while it's baking and it will be ready around the time Kate usually gets home.

* * *

Anita Moreno's mouth drops open in shock. "What do you mean my brother is dead?"

Ryan leans earnestly across the table in the visitor's room in the women's section of Rikers. "I'm very sorry for your loss, but you may be able to help us figure out who killed him. Did your brother have any enemies?"

"Other than doctors, no. And they were killing him slowly. They got him hooked and when he couldn't get off - they cut him off. I tried to help him out. I had a john, a regular, who could get his hands on what Victor needed, but with me in here, my brother was running out. I tried to warn him to be careful when he came to see me, but he was desperate. That's the last time I talked to him."

"Any idea what he would have been doing at the Naughton warehouse?" Esposito queries.

"Naughton? Oh wow! All kinds of stuff comes in through there. I know because they bring in some special toys from China - if you know what I mean. From what I heard; the place is open to independent contractors who'll deliver anything for a price. For most sellers there, it's cash only on delivery - and they don't like broken contracts."

"So if your brother asked them for something and couldn't pay for it, someone might have taken him out?" Ryan asks.

"It's possible," Anita agrees, "but I don't know why they would have believed he had money in the first place. He was supposed to be an actor. He went to the Fame school and everything, but he almost never got an acting gig. Mostly he waited tables, worked the Christmas rushes, anything he could get. He didn't have a car, and he practically lived on those stupid packages of noodles. Half the time I paid the rent on that hole he lived in."

"You have an address?" Esposito inquires.

"Sure, but if you check the place out, you might want to take some roach spray and rat poison with you. The landlord isn't exactly big on maintenance."

Ryan shudders at the sudden crawling sensation on his skin. "We'll keep that in mind."

"Is there any way I can do anything about final arrangements for Victor?" Anita asks. "I'm the only family he has."

"We'll see what we can find out," Ryan promises.

"Castle would love her as a character," Ryan speculates, as he and Esposito return to their unit. "Hooker with a heart of gold."

"Whose pimp rolls her clients," Esposito reminds him. "But if she can give her brother a decent send-off, I guess that's something."


	21. Chapter 21

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 21

Kate follows the scent of baking pasta into the loft. It's been a rough day. She didn't have the heart to turn anyone down, but she prioritized, creating a waiting list. She'll be putting her people on the cases where the police expended the least effort, first.

One is a missing person investigation, not a murder. The cops wrote it off as a rebellious teenager running away from home. When three other missing girls from the same poverty-stricken neighborhood eventually turned up dead, the police failed to take another look. Since the M.E. designated the cause of death for the three as overdoses, the idea of a serial killer was dismissed, and no one called in the FBI. It will be a good assignment for Lisa. No one is more invested in compensating for lazy police work than the newest addition to OOTC.

Custos greets Kate at the door, yipping joyfully as she unzips Callie from her carrier and buckles her into an infant seat on the counter. Rick looks up from removing his lasagna from the oven. "Perfect timing! This should rest for 20 minutes, which will give us a chance to exchange greetings properly."

"And what sort of greetings did you want to exchange?"

He hangs up the potholders he was using to grasp the hot pasta pan. Drawing her toward him, he lightly kisses her lips. "I believe that's a start."

Kate wraps her arms around his waist. "I think we can do better," she purrs as their lips meet more deeply.

"That is better," Rick agrees. "I managed to write a chapter today. Did you figure out where to concentrate OOTC's efforts?"

"For the moment, I guess, and Terry gave Lisa the results of her DNA testing. The blood on her father's shirt and shoes was his own. There is absolutely nothing to connect him to Declan William's murder. One of the attorneys who works with OOTC is going to start proceedings to have Perry Watson's conviction expunged. He suggested that Lisa could sue the city for damages, but she wants no part of that. The real murderer is already behind bars until he dies. She just wants to clear her father's name and get on with her life. She's going to stay on with OOTC."

"I suppose that's a happy ending of sorts, or perhaps a happy beginning."

"Maybe a little of both. Anyway, I'm going to grab a quick shower. After some of the cases I was looking into, I can use one."

Rick kisses the top of her head. "I'll throw together a salad and meet you at the table."

* * *

Esposito stomps on a roach that skitters across the floor of Victor Moreno's apartment. "The sister wasn't kidding about this place. I'm surprised there was a super to let us in. I bet he doesn't do much fixing around here."

"Probably just enough to keep the building from being condemned," Ryan agrees. He points to a rack of garments against one wall. "Victor must have been serious about wanting to be an actor. Those look more like costumes than street clothes."

"You're right." Esposito pulls out the arm of a suit. "This looks like someone's idea of what a gangster or drug lord would wear."

Ryan nods slowly. "It does. Hey Javi, you think Victor was trying to play a role as part of a scam? If he needed drugs, he might have attempted to convince someone he was a dealer and get them to deliver them to the Naughton warehouse."

"Right. But whoever it was, ended up catching on to Victor's act and sticking a fork in him. If that's what happened, there's got to be something around here to show who Victor contacted to try to get his stuff."

"Uh huh, but I'm going to double glove before we start looking," Ryan declares.

Esposito reaches into his pocket. "Yeah, me too, Bro."

* * *

Hunt's all-wheel-drive vehicle bumps along the unmarked dirt road leading to the training facility. The surrounding woods look almost primeval, but appearances can be deceiving. He's aware that there are motion sensors and cameras that will detect anyone who doesn't belong in the area. The system automatically runs license plates and does as much as possible with facial recognition. Any unfriendlies are spotted before they can get close to the gates. Accidental visitors show up from time to time, wondering where they are. Even if jammers didn't block unauthorized cellphone signals, the compound would never appear on Google Maps.

From the outside, the Company installation looks like a camp. Hunters or hikers who blunder in are told that's what it is, for members of an obscure religious sect. Hunt doubts there's much religion to be had there, except for prayers to be good enough to survive the next mission. In truth, everything is set up to mimic the most challenging scenarios, from booby traps to terrorist enclaves. Charlie got some amusement out of his faux IEDs that spray careless trainees with confetti instead of shrapnel. But the agents portraying terrorists shoot real guns. Even if they're loaded with rubber bullets, it still hurts like hell to be hit. And the chemical sprays that stand in for nerve gas don't feel good either. Yet, as effective as Charlie's made his lessons, Hunt has some ideas of his own. He's discovered some telltales and tipoffs to enemy activity, that he's anxious to add to the mix. There's also some experimental ammunition he wants to integrate into the sniper program. He'll get settled in and stay the night, but before he gets started on his duties, he wants to make a trip into the city. It's more than two hours each way, but that beats coming in from Europe or Asia, all to hell.

* * *

Esposito was hoping that he wouldn't have to go back to his apartment before picking Lanie up to go to a movie, but after Victor Moreno's place, he needs a decontamination chamber as much as a shower. Despite the God knows what that he can feel clinging to his skin, the search he and Ryan made was successful.

Moreno kept a journal. Much of it was about feelings and impressions, the kind of actors' crap he's heard Castle's mother sound off about sometimes. But Victor also put down his plan for getting a load of Fentanyl patches. The would-be actor wrote it like a script, complete with descriptions of the characters and the scenes - the last one being the Naughton warehouse. Poor sucker never realized it would be a death scene. Esposito and Ryan can follow up on the names tomorrow. Right now, there are better things to think about. Javi scrubs every square inch of himself and the important parts twice.

* * *

While she waits for Javi, Lanie peruses the movie listings. He loves action movies. She doesn't mind them, especially if they also feature a halfway decent love story. But then again, she and Javi are trying to work on a love story of their own. If they can be together, it doesn't matter much to her what's up on the screen. Still, if action will make him happy, they can at least see a film with a strong heroine. The Hunger Games should do it. And maybe they'll build up a little hunger of their own.

A/N The next chapter of my The Rookie story, "The Way Back," is posted.


	22. Chapter 22

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 22

"The Hunger Games" was better than Esposito expected it to be. He's thinking about seeing what he can do with a bow and arrow. Marksman that he is, he'd probably be pretty good at it. Lanie's in a good mood. She even laid her head on his shoulder through parts of the movie. She didn't want to take anything into the theater with her except a drink, so he suspects she'll want dinner. She does.

There's a pizza place down the block, but it will probably be crowded as hell because the movie let out. If they walk a block over, they can get Chinese. The restaurant isn't his favorite; it doesn't have much in the way of the spicy Szechuan dishes he likes, but it's usually quiet, and the booths have high walls.

Lanie reaches for Javi's hand as they stroll down the sidewalk to the Silver Moon. She can understand how Katniss feels about Peeta. Even if she was attracted to Terry, her affection for Javi has been growing, especially since the night she brought him her gumbo and the soup wasn't all that was hot. Still, the pull between them isn't palpable, the way the sparks flying between Kate and Rick are to everyone who sees them together. She wonders if that kind of fire has to blaze immediately, or if it can take a while to get going. If she and Javi are going to make it together, it will have to be the latter. Right now, she's having a good time, and she thinks he is too.

* * *

Exhausted by endless rounds of "horsie," with his young grandson, Casey, Jake rouses slowly as his cell phone buzzes at 8:00 a.m. He jerks awake when he sees the ID on the screen. Terry sounds way too alert for that time of the morning as his voice comes through the speaker. "I don't have a name for you, but I have a phenotype. Whoever had his lips on that cigarette butt, had red hair, blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion. He was of average height for a male, probably around five ten or so. His ancestry is primarily from the Tuscany region. Is that what you were expecting?"

Jake remembers the picture he saw of Russo as a younger man. Before the gray intruded, his hair was red. His eyes are blue, and in more recent images, his face could be classed as ruddy. The pol is also about average height. The Russo family that landed in the United States came from Sicily, but it's possible that the Russos originated in Tuscany. If Russo murdered Jeremy Bursor, the evidence all fits.

Now all Jake has to do is prove it. He hates to leave his grandchildren, but he needs to go back to California. If he can get himself on a flight soon enough, he should be there before nightfall.

* * *

Ryan studies Victor Moreno's journal as Esposito reads over his shoulder. The handwriting is large and flowery, as if calling out "Look at me," but at least it's legible. Victor mentions a couple of names, Weeks and Boyer. They're hardly the monikers one would expect of drug dealers, but then Fentanyl patches aren't exactly street merchandise. If Weeks or Boyer was selling them, they were probably diverted from pharmaceutical shipments. The contacts required for that would be more white collar criminals than denizens of the streets.

"Looks like we're going to have to go through all the Weeks and Boyers in our databases to find the right one. You want to take Weeks, and I'll take Boyer?" Ryan proposes.

"Right. Those aren't the only weeks I'm going to have to make it through." Esposito digs in his pocket and hands Ryan a small slip of paper. "Here! This was in my fortune cookie last night. I know you like to get the lucky numbers."

"Slow and easy does it," Ryan reads and looks back at his partner. "It's OK. Hang in there, Bro. It will be worth it."

* * *

Hunt pulls up in front of the nondescript building housing Rita's apartment. She gave him a key because he stowed some of his clothes and personal items there. He's hoping that she'll be home and he won't need it. He hasn't had a chance to tell her about Duchess, and he's curious about what she'll think of his plans. Hunt knows that she's spent some time in Duchess herself and she might have some insights about issues that wouldn't occur to him.

He raps on her door with his coded knock and smiles as the redhead opens the door. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"It had to be a big cat," Hunt quips as she waves him in.

Rita encircles his waist with her arms. "So how the hell are you, Hunt?"

"According to the doc at Langley, ancient. But there's still a little life in the old man yet."

Rita grins up at him. "I could have told you that."

* * *

Stomach twisting, Lisa pages through the file Kate gave her. In her mind, she can almost hear Louis Druben, the detective in charge, passing off Maura Hicks, the missing girl, as a runaway. Druben could have written a report about nothing and gone to stuff his face at lunch. Well, he's not going to pass Lisa off. He may not still be on the force, but she can track him down.

She's hoping Druben's still in New York. It won't take her long to find out. If he is, she'll be banging on his door by the end of the day - and he will have to justify not revisiting Maura's case when the bodies of the other girls were found. And she's going to get the autopsy reports too. Murray will dig a lot deeper into the deaths than the M.E.'s office did at the time.

* * *

"Callie's doing great," pediatrician Dr. Mary Teal assures Rick and Kate. "Her growth and weight gain are near the top of the normal range, which is to be expected since you're both tall. I don't know when the last time was that I saw that much hair on the head of an infant that young. You'll want to make sure it doesn't end up in her mouth. But I don't see any cause for concern."

"We're planning a family trip to France in a couple of months. Is there any reason she can't fly?" Rick asks. "It will be on a private plane. My publisher has a timeshare on one. We can do anything necessary to ensure that she's safe and comfortable."

"I can't see any reason right now. But you should bring her in before you go to make sure that she hasn't developed an infection or anything else that would keep her from equalizing the pressure in her ears."

"We will," Rick promises. "I wish we could take Custos with us," Rick muses on the way to the car. "Miniver will take good care of him, but he'll miss Callie."

"And you'll miss him," Kate adds. "Are you sure about the trip? You sell plenty of books. Do you need to do this?"

"Need to? No. But Kate, there is so much I want to show you, so much we should share. And if I can sell a few more volumes and make Black Pawn happy while I'm doing it, so much the better. Since I met you, I've wanted to give you the world. Consider France the first installment."


	23. Chapter 23

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 23

"Callie didn't even stir when we took her out of her safety seat," Kate notes as she lays her sleeping daughter in her crib.

"The magic of a car ride - especially when the city has failed to fix the potholes." Rick presses his lips to the sensitive skin of Kate's neck. We really shouldn't let the opportunity for some afternoon delight go to waste. Who knows when we'll get another one?"

"Waste is bad for the environment - especially ours," Kate agrees, nibbling on Rick's ear.

"We need to address the situation - now," Rick declares, sweeping Kate up in his arms and quickly covering the few steps between the nursery and the bedroom. "Best to let sleeping Callies lie," he adds using his shoulder to shut the door between the rooms. "If she needs anything, we'll hear it on the monitor, but she can't tune in on us. There is much to be said for one-way communication - except between us."

Kate reaches down, teasing the rapidly expanding bulge in his pants. "I can think of all sorts of ways to communicate."

Rick lays her on the bed. "So can I, but I've always found touch the most effective." Through the fabric of her slacks, his fingers caress the growing heat between her thighs before touching his lips to the spot. "And what am I telling you now?"

She reaches for the buckle of his belt. "That this conversation would be a hell of a lot better with our clothes off."

With garments quickly discarded, they come together mouth to mouth and skin to skin, tongues thrusting and twining in a primitive dance — craving deeper contact. Kate surges against his body, her hips moving on their own accord. He slips his hand between them to titillate the center of her arousal. Gasping and arching, she grinds against it.

He pulls back for a moment. "We can do better than that."

Kate pants, her motion still beyond her control. "Yes - we - can." Her fingers encircle the warm velvet skin sheathing his eager hardness. "I need this."

"It's yours for the taking."

She guides him into depths more than ready to receive him. Her hands slide up and down his back as her legs rise, granting him even deeper access. Thankfulness that he'd managed to close the door flits through what's left of Rick's consciousness and the bed creaks beneath their desperate duet.

Kate can feel Rick everywhere, sensation spreading outward with every cell craving fulfillment. The temblors cascade through her, triggering Rick's response. Nerve cells fire again and again until finding exhausted quiescence. Blissfully spent, they rest in embrace.

* * *

Lisa treads the worn stairs to Druben's second-floor walk-up. There's an elevator, but it sports a yellowing out of order sign. Apparently, his pension doesn't go very far for housing - or he has an expensive habit. The retired detective's address hadn't been difficult to find. It popped up on a first level search. The building has no security door - not that Lisa would have let one stop her. Druben is in 2B, but the letter has come loose from the door and is hanging upside-down by a single screw. The paint is worn away where fists have pounded in the absence of a doorbell. Lisa is not hesitant to add to the damage, rapping loudly.

Inside she hears a shuffling, rather than individual steps, as if Druben is too lazy to lift his feet. The sound stops and Lisa assumes Druben is using the peephole before slowly opening the door. Red-rimmed eyes in a deeply grooved face stare at her. "Do I know you?"

Lisa can feel her jaw tightening. "No, but I know you. You're the kind of cop who does the bare minimum to get through the day so he can put in his twenty and collect checks for work he didn't bother to do. You make excuses to let cases go unsolved, and families suffer and wonder forever. Do you remember Maura Hicks?"

Druben leans against the doorframe for support. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who?"

"A teenager who went missing. You told Maura's mother that the girl had run away. Except that Maura was a straight-A student who'd never missed a day of school and spent most of her spare time babysitting so that she could help her family. She'd never touched drugs, either. Her family, her neighbors, and her teachers all attested to that. And there was no boyfriend to lure her away. You just assumed she'd taken off, filed your report and did nothing. When three other girls from the same area were found dead, you still did nothing."

Druben runs his fingers through his thinning gray hair. "I do remember that case. Those girls were addicts. Maura probably was too. The family is always the last to know."

Lisa slams her palm against the doorframe. "Bullshit! I had the best medical examiner in the state look at their autopsy reports. There were no signs of previous drug use - and there were ligature marks on their wrists. Those girls were tied up and injected. And it all happened on your watch. How many others, Druben? How many other cases did you shuffle aside, leaving parents not only grieving but guilt-ridden, thinking they'd failed their children?"

"I have no idea about any of that," Druben protests. "But how can what happened years ago matter now? Look, I still don't know who you are or what you want from me."

"My name is Lisa Anderson, and I was a homicide detective, but I didn't let my cases go unsolved. I work now for Out of the Cold. We bring peace to loved ones by cleaning up the messes cops like you leave behind. And what I want, is for you to tell me everything you didn't put in your report on Maura Hicks' case. And I'm prepared to stay on your doorstep until you do."

"Fine, Druben agrees, "but after all this time, I don't see how it will make any difference."

"Staying with a case always makes a difference," Lisa insists. "I know that for a fact."

* * *

Ryan looks up from his screen. "Hey, Javi! I think I found the right Boyer. This guy works for Hollingbroke Pharmaceuticals. They make Fentanyl patches. It looks like their customers are hospices - at least their official customers. They're under investigation by the DEA. Apparently, some of their records went missing."

"Missing, yeah, right," Esposito responds quickly tapping keys. "A Weeks is working for them too, at least according to his LinkedIn page. He claims to have the best sales record in the company."

Ryan's forehead creases as his eyebrows rise. "I wonder who his customers are?"

Esposito taps on the glass of his computer screen. "We should go see these guys and find out."

Ryan fingers more keys. "According to a post, Boyer made on Facebook; he's a darts fan. He plays at a pub called the Pig Whistle. You up for a game or two and a beer?"

"Lanie's got something with her girlfriends tonight anyway. I bet that I can take you and Boyer if he shows up. Loser buys dinner."

Ryan slides his chair over to his partner's desk and sticks out his hand. "Alright, Bro, you're on."

A/N Guest, you have a point. In reality, a drug dealer can be named anything. I was operating in the Castle universe, more or less, where the drugs were distributed by the various gangs or folks like Vulcan Simmons. Except for the snotty kid who made the drugs he sold to Lockwood's girlfriend, that's mostly what we saw, so I went with it. Not my most creative moment.


	24. Chapter 24

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 24

Both the music and the patrons at the Whistle and Pig are loud. A large contingent is gathered around a table where a man with a clipboard is signing up entrants for a darts tournament. Ryan and Esposito take their places in line. Ryan gripes at the twenty dollar entry fee but hands over the cash. He wishes he could get a receipt so he could count it as an expense, but asking for one would blow his cover and possibly Javi's too.

Once their names are on the list, the two detectives order beers, but sip them slowly to avoid dulling their senses. Esposito is disappointed that the pub menu doesn't feature any jalapeño poppers, but settles for bacon fries, causing Ryan to shake his head at the massive offering of grease. As newcomers, the two cops are among the last to be called to compete, giving them plenty of time to scan the faces of the players and eavesdrop on conversations.

They recognize Boyle as soon as he comes through the door. He's still wearing the suit typical of an up and coming sales rep, but he's loosened his tie and opened the first button on his shirt. The slight bulge above his belt suggests that the beer he orders is not the first he's ever had. As he takes a healthy gulp from his mug, he announces to no one in particular that he is celebrating another great sales month and expects to top it off with a victory in the darts competition. A grumble rolls through the crowd, and more money changes hands.

Boyle boasts better than he plays. Both Ryan and Esposito top his score, with much to Esposito's disgust, Ryan racking up more points. "I told you, Bro, all that fat is going to kill you," the slighter cop declares as he studies the menu on the chalkboard above the bar. "The shepherd's pie won't be as good as Jenny's, but it is the least unhealthy thing up there."

Esposito snorts and shakes his head. "Man, she has you whipped. I'm surprised she let you out tonight."

"She's visiting her grandmother in Florida," Ryan admits, "but she's flexible." His dimples deepen. "She's very flexible." He glances across the room. "Hey, looks like Boyle's got himself a friend."

A slim leggy redhead is in the process of draping herself around the salesman and taking a sip of his beer. "He's not going home alone tonight," Esposito speculates.

"She could be the reason he wanted to pick up some extra money," Ryan adds. 

Esposito shrugs. "I wouldn't spend much on someone like her. I prefer a woman who gives me something to hold on to."

"And how are things with you and Lanie?" Ryan queries.

Esposito takes another drink of his beer. "I think we're getting somewhere. Bro! Look who just arrived. That's Weeks!"

"And another woman is coming over to join them," Ryan notes. "We should probably watch and see where they all go. Maybe the ladies are after more than male company." He studies the menu again and decides to go for a large nacho platter. If it's going to be a long night, he'll need something to get him through it.

* * *

Alexis bursts through the door after an evening get-together with her French club. "Dad! It came through! I can count our trip to France as an independent study and pick up credits for it. I just have to keep a journal, in French, of everything I experience. With all the extra classes I'm taking, I should be able to graduate a year early, at the same time as Ashley."

"That's great!" Rick replies, hoping that he makes his smile convincing. He hasn't been looking forward to his older daughter going off to college, and from the sound of it, he'll be losing another year with her. He just hopes she picks one of the academic institutions close to home. Still, even if she does finish after her junior year, he has over a year before it happens. He can make the best of it. "Have you had dinner? Kate and I had Mediterranean chicken. I can heat up the leftovers for you."

"_Non, merci bien_. We went to La Crêperie. And I want to check out the best places to journal." Alexis plants a quick kiss on Rick's cheek. "Thanks, Dad."

Kate wanders into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. "I heard. My father was proud of me, but I thought he was going to cry when I went off to Stanford. How do you feel about Alexis leaving the nest a year early?"

"Proud too. And I'm happy for Alexis but…"

"You'll miss her."

"Like crazy. I feel like I'm missing her already. But by the time she leaves, Callie will be walking - maybe running - and getting into everything. I'll have more than enough running of my own to distract me. You will too. You might want to trade in some of your heels for more athletic footwear."

Kate stares down fondly at her three-inch high strappy sandals. "Maybe, but I'm keeping these."

* * *

Esposito hangs back as far as he can to still be able to follow the car containing Boyle, Weeks and their two female companions. The four had waited for a couple of hours before leaving the bar, which gave him and Ryan time to get food into themselves and let the alcohol work its way out of their systems. He doubts if either one of them would register on an intoxilyzer right now. He hopes not.

As far as he can tell, they're heading for the docks where the Naughton warehouse is. Fortunately, the area has enough space for him to park at a distance so that he and Ryan can approach the building on foot. They'll have to keep to the shadows to avoid being spotted, but if Boyle and Weeks could manage to spear Victor Moreno with a forklift in the warehouse, he doubts there will be many observers.

He parks at the edge of a gravel-covered lot. Yellow tape still encircles the building and seals the doors. There are spotlights in the loading bays, but a side door where the tape is broken is lit by nothing but moon and starlight. Ryan approaches first, pulling gently on the knob with gloved hands. "They didn't lock it. They must not be expecting to be disturbed."

Ryan looks inside. Boyle peers into a Gaylord, a large cardboard shipping container, then turns and smiles at the willowy redhead. "We always put the stuff in the bottom then cover it with Chinese crap like cheap earphones for dollar stores. No one ever checks. That stuff isn't worth ripping off. All we need to do is dig through it. We'll need another box to put it in."

Weeks retrieves a large carton from a shipping station and brings it over for Boyle to load up. The ladies lean in to help, pulling out small packages until the box is almost full. "There it is!" Boyle proclaims in triumph. "We can sell this for big bucks. We tried before to some asshole who thought he could get away with stiffing us." A smirking smile comes to his lips. "He'll never try that again."

Esposito and Ryan lock gazes before pulling their weapons.


	25. Chapter 25

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 24

Boyle has never sweated so much in his life, and Weeks doesn't look much better. Who the hell would have thought that two guys from the darts tournament would be cops - and that they would trail him to the warehouse. And he had to mouth off to impress Krystal, while they were listening. Damn! The whole thing is one big clusterf*ck.

He's seen on TV what happens when someone is sitting in a room like this. To have any hope of getting a break, they have to start horse trading. Well, making a deal is one thing he knows how to do. He looks across the table at the detectives who call themselves Ryan and Esposito. "What do you want?"

"Why should we want anything?" Esposito asks. "We have you cold. You had enough Fentanyl to class you as a dealer. And you confessed to making sure someone would never stiff you again, in an active crime scene where a guy had been murdered."

"It doesn't take much to connect the dots," Ryan continues. "Victor Moreno wanted drugs, and when he couldn't pay for them, you skewered him on a forklift. And I'm sure your lovely companions will be happy to testify as to what you told them, in exchange for not being charged as accessories after the fact."

Boyle and Weeks look at each other, nodding almost simultaneously. Weeks leans over the table toward the two detectives. "Look, we're just cogs in the machine. Hollingbroke doesn't just sell to hospitals and pharmacies. The boys upstairs run a more lucrative street business. They bring Fentanyl in from Mexico off the record, put it out on the streets and cook the books to cover up what they're doing. What Weeks and I were selling is just a fraction of the operation. They have users hooked all over the city - even cops and ex-cops."

"And you can testify to all of this?" Ryan asks.

"Damn straight we can," Boyle insists.

* * *

"Can we talk a minute?" Lisa asks from the open doorway of Kate's office.

"Problems with your case?" Kate inquires, motioning Lisa to a chair.

"I found Druben, the cop who decided that Maura Hicks was a runaway. He told me all he could, but it wasn't much. We got more from the family. Dr. Murray's sure the other girls were murdered; they were forcibly given drugs. But I don't know where to go from here. The trail is as cold as it was when Maura disappeared, and the other girls were killed."

Kate nibbles on her lower lip. "All right let's start with Druben. Did you notice anything when you talked to him - about the way he acted or the way he looked?"

"He looked like crap."

"What kind of crap? Like he was sick or on something?"

"I thought he might be on something. The place he lives in is falling apart. Even with New York rents, he should be able to do better than that."

Kate nods. "Usually my husband is the one who comes up with wild theories, but let's suppose for a minute that Druben's resources are being drained because he's a user. Maybe he's been one for a long time. He might have suspected that Maura's disappearance was linked to drugs. He could even have been involved. If the murders were connected, he might have applied some pressure to have them passed off as accidental overdoses. Look back at his history. We can check his credit now and going back years. See who he's been involved with. Something might pop."

Lisa pushes up from her seat. "I'll do that. Thanks."

Kate shrugs. "Don't thank me until you see if you're getting somewhere. Let me know if you find anything."

* * *

"You men look pleased with yourselves," Rick notes as he deals the cards for a round of poker.

Esposito's shirt stretches over his expanding chest. "We broke a big one wide-open today - murder and drugs."

"The whole thing's hooked to a crooked pharmaceutical company," Ryan adds. "When this is all tied up, we'll be getting a lot of poison off the streets."

Esposito pushes his ante into the pot. "The big shots of Hollingbroke are going down!"

Kate looks up from her three jacks. "Wait a minute! Your case is about Hollingbroke?"

"Hollingbroke Pharmaceuticals," Ryan confirms. "The company has a side business in illicit drugs. We don't have all the details yet, but apparently, they've been in it for years. Heroin, morphine, the last few years they moved up to Fentanyl."

Kate smacks her palm against the surface of the table. "Years is right. One of my detectives, Lisa Anderson, found a connection to that company in a cold case she's working on."

Rick rubs his hands together. "It looks like the N.Y.P.D. and OOTC will be teaming up again. This calls for a drink!"

* * *

Jake shifts in his seat in Luigi's Pasta House. His fettuccine Alfredo isn't half bad, but he isn't at the restaurant for the food. Pete Russo has been known to show up there for dinner. Jake had been hoping to snag a discarded cup from a coffee run, but Russo's been having a gofer pick up his morning brew. Jake would rather not have to try to swipe a plate or flatware. He is not big on stealing, and any DNA match he gets would be thrown out in court if Russo has a halfway decent lawyer. What he needs is something legitimately discarded, like a napkin Russo uses to wipe Marinara sauce from his lips.

The bell over the door tinkles as Pete Russo and a woman Jake can't identify come through it. The jerk is probably stepping out on his wife. That wouldn't be surprising for the sleaze. After a loud sneeze as he's waiting for his table to be readied Russo drops a soiled tissue into a trash receptacle near the reservation desk. Jake grins as he twirls pasta around his fork. This is going to be easier than he thought.

* * *

"So," Rick asks as Kate slips into bed beside him, "Are you looking forward to working with the boys again? Murder, drugs, corporate malfeasance, a case can't get much juicier than that."

"I'm more interested in finding out what happened to Maura Hicks. Even if it turns out that she's dead like the other girls, at least her family will have some closure. Right now, all we have are suspicions."

"Well-founded suspicions," Rick points out.

"True," Kate agrees, "and if we solve Maura's disappearance, it may lead to the solution of other cases that are in cold storage, maybe even some on the OOTC waiting list."

"You'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help, right?"

"You really are anxious to get back in the saddle, aren't you?" Kate teases.

Rick's fingertips trace the curve of Kate's hip. "More than one kind of saddle. But yeah, working on cases is more stimulating - if less lucrative - than writing about them, and I wouldn't mind a visit to the bullpen. I'd even spring for doughnuts to replace the undoubtedly stale ones in the break room." Rick's hand finds its way lower. "But how do you feel about another kind of wild ride?"

Rolling over to face her husband, Kate tugs at the drawstring of his pajama bottoms. "Saddle up, cowboy, and hold on tight."


	26. Chapter 26

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 26

The only light in the bedroom is the faint slivers that seep in through the window when Rick sits up straight in bed. Kate reaches up, running her finger along his bare arm. "What is it?"

"When you and the boys were talking about Hollingbroke, it rang a bell, but I wasn't sure from where. Now I remember, there was a reference to it in some of the old records we went through on Bracken - financial records. It was one of the contributors to his campaign for district attorney."

Shoving a pillow behind her back, Kate sits up beside Rick. "That would make sense. If it was running a drug operation, it would have wanted to bribe him to leave them alone. Maybe it was trying to preserve their territory."

Rick curls his fingers around the edge of the sheet. "Obviously it succeeded. Maybe more than that. Bracken got his claws into dirty cops. Maybe some of them - like Druben - were hooked by Hollingbroke. If Bracken knew about it that would have given him extra leverage."

Characteristic furrows mar Kate's forehead. "But what would Hollingbroke have to do with Maura's disappearance or the murder of the three other girls? Why would they need Druben to cover up for them?"

"Imagine this," Rick proposes. "Hollingbroke had its people on the street, dealing, trying to pull vulnerable kids into the web of addiction. But one of them got out of hand. From everything you know about Maura, she couldn't have been more on the straight and narrow, right?"

"At least according to her teachers and her family."

"So a Hollingbroke dealer tries to get her to sample his wares. She wants no part of that and tries to turn him in, so he kidnaps her, probably kills her and disposes of the body somehow. But that raises too much of a fuss. Even when Druben passes off the case, there are still flyers all over the neighborhood, and the Hicks family keeps asking questions.

"Our pusher takes that as a lesson. The next time someone protests, he makes sure that she looks like an addict who overdosed. That works so well; he does it again. And all the while Bracken is covering for him and Druben or other cops as well."

Kate scrubs a hand down her face. "I thought we found all of Bracken's victims."

Rick shakes his head. "Those were the kills he ordered directly. These would have been tangential - just part of his cover-up of all the dirty dealings in this city. Who knows? He might still have been covering for Hollingbroke up until the day he was taken out by his own assassin."

"If he was, we can find out," Kate declares. "All the police records and all my own records on Bracken still exist. I just put them aside after we finished reaching out to the families of his murder victims. Maybe we can help the N.Y.P.D. build its case against Hollingbroke and uncover a killer at the same time. Maybe we can even find out where to find her body - if there is one. At least the family could give her a decent memorial."

Rick leans over to kiss the top of her head. "Sounds like we've got a lot of digging to do, and I'm ready to sharpen my shovel."

* * *

Druben isn't really surprised when detectives Esposito and Ryan pull him in for questioning. Ever since Lisa Anderson almost broke down his door, he's been expecting the other shoe to drop. It looks like it's hit the floor with a bang. At least he isn't shackled to the table, but as an ex-cop, he isn't being accorded any other courtesies.

Kate and Lisa watch through the window of observation as Ryan begins Druben's interview. "When did you start doing the bidding of Hollingbroke Pharmaceuticals?"

Druben slumps in his chair. "I suppose that once the Hicks investigation was reopened, it was only a matter of time before that came out. Hollingbroke got to me right after my rookie year. I took a knife in the leg when I went after a purse snatcher. It was just the thigh. You would think a thing like that would heal all right. The docs said it did, but they missed something. It still hurt like the devil, but they wouldn't give me anything more for it. They told me to take over the counter stuff - aspirin, Tylenol. That didn't touch the pain. I was desperate, so when I found a guy dealing heroin, I told him I'd let him off if he gave me a taste. That started it all. He worked for Hollingbroke. A lot of the pushers did. As far as I know, a lot still do, maybe more now that the trade has shifted so much into Fentanyl.

"As long as I could cover for their organization, I got what I needed for free, but after I retired, I had to start paying for it. You saw the way I live. It doesn't leave much."

Esposito snorts. "Right. You're just a victim here. Yeah, cry me a river. You could have gone into rehab, gotten some help, but you didn't. Instead, you did the bidding of your masters. What really happened to Maura Hicks, Druben? Who killed those other girls?"

Druben presses his hands to his face before drawing a breath and looking back at the detectives. "I don't know for sure, but I do know what dealer worked that neighborhood, a guy named Joey Banks. Hollingbroke eventually cut him loose. I don't even know if he's still alive, but if he is, he's probably the one you want."

Kate and Lisa look at each other, simultaneously mouthing, "Joey Banks."

* * *

Joseph Banks the Third hates daytime television, but there isn't much else to do but watch it. He had a few nuts stowed away when Hollingbroke pushed him out - enough to buy a little house in Jersey and spend his afternoons and evenings at Jeff's Bar and Grill watching sports and sharing the comradery of the regulars.

He always thought it was funny that some of them were cops. But when the recession hit, his nest egg developed a massive crack. In his line of work, no one deducted for Social Security. What's left of his investments is enough to get by - but barely. He can't even afford cable. He has one of those digital antennas. It's strong enough to pick up the signals broadcast from New York City, but that's all he gets, mostly game shows and women shooting their mouths off. There are hardly even any decent soap operas left.

The banging on his door takes him by surprise. It's the wrong day for the Jehovah's Witnesses to show up and the Mormons and the Baptists gave up long ago on trying to lure him into the fold. Not much of anyone else comes around. His family wrote him off years ago.

Two state troopers are on his doorstep flanking, what from their badges, are two N.Y.P.D. detectives. "Are you Joseph Banks the Third, aka Joey Banks?" the Hispanic looking one asks.

Joey can barely swallow past the lump in his throat. "What's this all about.?"

"Mr. Banks," the slim one states brusquely, "this is about the disappearance of Maura Hicks and the murder of three other young women. You have a lot to answer for."


	27. Chapter 27

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 27

Lanie turns over in an otherwise empty bed. Esposito was in the mood to celebrate the night before. He is sure that he and Ryan collared a drug dealer and murderer. He didn't get a confession, but he's sure he will, and it's going to be the start of something bigger. He woke up even earlier than Lanie usually does, anxious to get started.

Her alarm goes off, and she pushes back the sheet. She has work of her own to do. She had a body come in just as she was going off shift. The man had died in bed and was found by his young son, who was returning from school. The boy and his older sister were sent to stay with their mother, who shared custody. At least they didn't have to go into the system, but according to the uniforms who answered the boy's 911 call, the kids had no idea that their father was ill.

She knows that it happens that way sometimes. It could have been a sudden stroke, an aneurysm, or even a heart attack. That will be up to her to determine, and provide an explanation for the family. With any luck, she and Javi can touch base later. She wants to call Kate too. She knows her friend has been juggling more cases than she did when she was a cop including the one Esposito is working on. That's on top of motherhood. Lanie wants to make sure that her friend isn't taking on too much.

* * *

Jake's phone rings early, but it's three hours later in New York and Kate Beckett-Castle is calling. Jake suspects that Terry has been hard at work. Kate doesn't waste any words. "The DNA on the tissue you overnighted to OOTC is a match to the DNA on the cigarette butt from the murder scene. You've found your killer, Jake. I'll be using OOTC's contacts in California to get the case re-opened."

"Should I come back to New York?" Jake queries.

"I think you should stay in California until the paperwork goes through," Kate advises. "We both know there's no statute of limitations on murder. Russo probably knows it too, and he has resources. If he finds out about your investigation, he could run. You'll need to keep a watch on him."

"I'll do that," Jake agrees.

"Good. And Jake," Kate adds, "great job. I'm sure the Bursors will be forever grateful."

"I want to see that scum ball behind bars," Jake responds.

Jake can almost hear the twinkle in Kate's eyes when she answers. "Me too. I hope the press puts out lots of pictures."

* * *

Bringing Callie to Kate at OOTC, Rick finds her hunched over her computer. "Looking into the relationship between Bracken and Hollingbroke?" he asks.

"Yeah. I've been going through the financials we have on Bracken. There's not much from when he was a D.A. - he has personal accounts both in New York and offshore. So far I can't find any money flowing to him from Hollingbroke."

"How about his campaign funds?" Rick asks. "Contributions to those would have to be public, and no one would scrutinize money coming from a pharmaceutical company to a crusader who pledged to fight the influx of illicit drugs."

"Babe, you're right! That's where I should be looking." She stretches, massaging the back of her neck. "I must be getting punchy."

"Kate, sometimes it helps to look away for a while, and Callie needs what Daddy doesn't have the plumbing to offer. Why not settle into the rocker in the childcare room with her for a while? I can scan through some numbers and see if I can come up with something."

Kate takes the baby from Rick's arms. "OK, but don't mess with the height of my chair. I've finally got it perfect."

Rick solemnly raises his right hand. "I swear. Any adjustments to your seating are off limits.

* * *

Ryan puts down his phone. That's all of Maura Hicks' old neighbors I could reach. A couple of them remember someone matching Joey Bank's description hanging around the neighborhood. I'm going to show them picture lineups with that old picture of him that we found, to see if they can pick him out."

"Same here," Esposito reports, "the family remembers someone too. I'll take the pics to them and see what they say. Since Joey knew enough to ask for a lawyer and his public defender hasn't shown up yet, we'll have to wait to go at him anyway."

"Right, Bro. If we get some positive ID's, we'll have a lot more to throw at him when we get him in the room."

* * *

"Booyah!" Rick exclaims, half bouncing in while Kate is changing Callie.

Kate secures the diaper and picks Callie up from the changing table. "You found something?"

"I did. Bracken's campaign for D.A. had a contribution from Hollingbroke pharmaceuticals. It wasn't anything that would have raised eyebrows. But more to the point, I looked at the agency that did ads for him. They also handle Hollingbroke. The company could have funneled soft money to him that way, without it becoming obvious or even breaking campaign laws. If they kept supporting him, they wouldn't even have needed a PAC, but I wouldn't be surprised if they contributed to one of those too. The point is, they would have been pulling his strings from the beginning - or at least thinking they were. The irony is they probably didn't know about his involvement with the other drug trade in the city. Bracken was playing both ends against the middle."

Kate cuddles Callie against her shoulder. "That would have been like him; playing every angle without an ounce of integrity. Hollingbroke is just another part of his legacy."

"And an evil legacy it is," Rick agrees. "But Vulcan Simmons and his minions are gone. Hollingbroke will bite the dust too. I wonder how the boys are doing on their end."

"If you'll take Callie, I'll call them."

Rick holds out his arms. "Put your phone on speaker."

* * *

Lila Hicks pokes the picture of Joey Banks as if wishing she could skewer the man himself. "I recognize him. I saw him hanging around Maura's school when I went there for meetings with her teachers. I asked the principal about him, but she said he kept just enough distance so that the police couldn't roust him - even if they moved their sorry asses to try. I'm sorry detective, but I feel like if they had been doing their jobs, I never would have lost my little girl."

"We have him now, and we're going to make him talk Ms. Hicks," Esposito promises. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

Lydia Matlock casts an experienced eye on her client. There are very few lawyers her age that act as court-appointed attorneys. She also has a practice with clients who are willing and able to shell out for her services, but she considers taking the cases of suspects who would otherwise get a few minutes of a heavily loaded fresh-out's time, as part of her contribution to the legal system. Joey Banks is not one of her standard assignments. He doesn't bear the usual marks of poverty. His teeth are good, and his clothes may have seen a few seasons, but they're well made. His hair and nails don't show the signs of poor nutrition. He may have fallen on hard times, but she's willing to bet he spent most of his life pretty well fixed. If he can't account for how he got that way, she'll defend him regardless. That's her job. But she already suspects he's guilty as hell. Chances are she'll be putting her deal-making skills to work.


	28. Chapter 28

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 28

The enzymes in the blood of Frank Jenkins, the body on Lanie's table, give a clear signal that he had a heart attack. She finds a blockage and a clot that confirm it. According to his estranged wife, who officially identified the body, he had no known history of the disease, but she added that as far as she knew, he hadn't been tested for it either. He was only 48.

Once 48 would have seemed ancient to Lanie, but now it doesn't seem so far away. She's already past what used to be considered the optimal childbearing years. With monitoring and new procedures, the age at which women start having kids has stretched out a lot, but still, the time has sneaked up on her - and Javi's older than she is. If there's any chance they'll have a family together; they can't put it off forever.

She never pictured Kate with a baby. Her friend hadn't even liked holding one on the rare occasions when the opportunity presented itself, but now she's thoroughly bonded to her daughter. When Lanie called, Kate was busy but happy. She admitted that it helps a lot that Rick is more than willing to do his share of baby care. Would Javi be? Lanie has no idea. The subject hasn't come up. They haven't been together long enough for her to bring it up, either.

Maybe if she and Javi can visit with Kate and Rick and the baby together, she can see how he reacts to Callie. There's no reason the four of them - five if you count Callie - and six if Alexis comes along - can't have dinner together at a restaurant. A lot of the Mexican ones are family friendly, and Javi loves spice. Lanie can put the idea to Kate and see what happens.

* * *

Esposito and Ryan face Joey Banks and Lydia Matlock across the table in interrogation. The two detectives still don't have enough to convict Joey of anything. The statute of limitations on drug dealing has run out. Druben's testimony about that and the witnesses who saw Banks near the school don't prove homicide. Joey's financials show income he probably can't account for, but that would be tied to drug dealing too, and the window for the state or the feds to go after him for evading taxes was even smaller than it is for drugs. But there's nothing to keep the two detectives from bluffing a little.

"I don't know why my client is even here," Lydia protests. "You have nothing you can hold him on."

"Is that so?" Esposito challenges. "What if I were to tell you that we have a witness that saw your client near Maura Hicks before she disappeared? And what if he was seen with a girl we know was murdered?"

Ryan picks up the ball. "You see, Ms. Matlock, review of the autopsy reports of three girls that died of overdoses showed they didn't shoot up heroin on their own. They were tied down, and it was forced into their veins. Now, your client was the one supplying heroin in the neighborhood. Your client was being paid by a company we know was bringing that heroin in from Mexico. We have the records of the deposits into his bank account. How difficult do you think it will be for a jury to connect the dots?"

"And what would you say," Esposito continues, "if I told you that the mother of one of the dead girls kept the blouse she was wearing that day to remember her by. Whose DNA do you think we'd find on it?"

"Now, if Joey helps us, we can try to help him," Ryan picks up again. "We could talk sweet to the D.A., get him to request one of those nice cushy prisons with TV and internet; one where the other cons won't get - too friendly."

Lydia's eyes narrow. "I need a few moments alone with my client."

"Fine," Ryan agrees. "You call us when he's ready to cooperate."

When the detectives have left the room, Lydia pulls the connector from the microphone to ensure she has no chance of being overheard before she turns to her blanching client. "Look, I heard the way those cops were wording things. The 'What if I told you,' is a dead giveaway. They're bluffing. They can prove you sold drugs, but that makes no difference now. Any connection you have to the murders is pure conjecture. If you sit tight and don't say a word, I can make sure that you walk out of here - even if personally I think they should hang you up by your balls."

Joey pulls at his collar. "What if you're wrong? What if they aren't bluffing? I'm not going to live the rest of my life trying to keep some guy in a prison shower from sticking his dick up my ass."

"If you confess, that's it," Lydia warns. "You'll be in prison for the rest of your life. And the cops have no power to promise which one. They can only make a suggestion. So can a D.A. No judge has to follow it."

Joey shakes his head. "I don't know. Even if these guys don't have what they say they do, they'll keep digging. It's been this many years; they're not going to give up now. Maybe they'll find the body."

"What body?" Lydia asks.

"That girl who the cops said disappeared, Maura Hicks. I put it in the wet cement of a building they were putting up near the school where I was dealing. Some kind of annex. They know I was around there. If they start digging the place up or bring in dogs, they could find her. She fought me. She fought me hard. She bit me. She scratched me. There might be something on the clothes I left on her body."

"That would be a problem," Lydia speculates even as nausea rises in her throat just looking at her client. "Some of the clothing may still be intact. There might even be blood on the teeth."

"That's what I was trying to tell you. Look, the Hicks bitch's family still wants to know what happened to her. Fine, I'll tell them. I'll show them where the body is - in exchange for the best deal you can get. You just make sure it's solid."

"It will be solid," Lydia replies, acid burning the back of her tongue. She's been fine representing poor kids rousted by the police, with no one to stand up for them. That's how she's learned the techniques of cops who didn't have enough real evidence. But Joey Banks is not the kind of client she ever wanted. Even now, he isn't showing any remorse for selling poison to kids or murdering helpless girls. He's only sorry for being caught. She'll do her job. At least Maura Hicks' family will finally find some peace. But Lydia's going to rethink what to do next. She's going to rethink it hard.

Lydia opens the door of the interrogation room, asking the tall uniformed officer stationed on the other side of it to summon the two detectives. It's going to be one hell of a crappy day.

Ryan and Esposito come out of the break room carrying mugs of coffee when L.T. calls them. "Get an A.D.A. in here," Lydia commands. "My client is ready to deal."

A/N The new chapter of my The Rookie story, "The Way Back," is posted.


	29. Chapter 29

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 29

After years of water damage due to a leaky roof, and with the population of young people at the school diminishing, the annex where Joey Banks had hidden the evidence of his crime has fallen into disuse. No developer bid on the property, and it has stood unoccupied for a decade. Other than trimming back the weeds that grow around it, and making sure there are no squatters, the city does little to maintain it. When, by the light of heavy-duty flashlights, Joey Banks points to a spot in the Northwest corner of the dank basement, there is no one to object when picks begin to swing.

There isn't much left of Maura Hicks; mostly bones and teeth, but the shirt, jeans, and sneakers she'd worn to school are still recognizable. The canvas backpack, with the initials, "MH" that Joey had thrown in with her is also uncovered.

In her lab, Lanie extracts enough DNA from the bones and teeth to confirm there is a parental match with Lila Hicks.

* * *

Lydia Matlock studies copies of the autopsy and forensic reports from the retrieval of Maura Hicks' body. No DNA was found that could have tied her murder to Joey Banks. His fear, if not his remorse, had sent Joey to Rikers to await sentencing. Lydia bargained the charges against him down to second-degree murder, but she knows Judge Mira Ramirez. They went to law school together. There's no way Mira won't throw the book at Joey hard enough to knock him into the ground. He'll get the maximum - life - probably at Fishkill. It will be a step up from being sent to Sing-Sing, but Lydia doesn't imagine that either the staff or the other inmates will show much love for a man who drugged and murdered children. He'll pay for his crimes, not as much as Lydia might have wished, but it will be a hell of a lot better than if he had skated free.

She let the court know that she's not taking any more appointments. She can pick up a case pro bono if she feels her client is getting a raw deal, but, if she can help it, she won't be defending any more scum like Joey Banks. That's going to leave a hole in her practice that she's not sure how she's going to fill. Perhaps she'll get some answers at the Bar Association affair she's attending that night. While her colleagues swap stories in the absence of any press to overhear them, she may be able to do some networking.

* * *

Silverware clatters and children chatter at _La Concina de la Abuela_. The name of the restaurant lends a level of comfort to Esposito. His grandmother's home was one place he'd felt safe and happy as a boy. The hostess leads the group to a family table, picks up the coloring placemats and crayons that are meant for young diners, and distributes menus. Kate has Callie strapped into her front carrier, but the seating easily accommodates the other five.

At another table nearby, a toddler in a highchair is both nibbling and scattering bits of tortilla chips on the gaily tiled floor. Lanie studies Esposito's face as he surveys the scene, noting the wrinkle of distaste on the bridge of his nose. Not a good sign.

When their server arrives to take their orders, announcing her name as Carmelita, Callie chooses the moment to begin to fuss. Lanie smiles as Rick drapes his jacket around Kate, providing cover while she unfastens the inner zipper of Callie's carrier so the baby can sup along with the rest of the family. Carmelita waits patiently during the moment required, while Esposito pastes his eyes to his menu. He barely hears Carmelita's recital listing cheese stuffed jalapeños as one of the special appetizers of the day.

Lanie put's a hand on her date's arm. "Javi, you like those, don't you?"

He pulls his gaze up again. "What? Oh yeah, sure."

"We could all share one of the giant nacho platters while we're waiting for the rest of our food to come," Rick suggests. He continues without a beat, turning to Alexis just as she opens her mouth. "I know you don't like black olives. If you get any by accident, you can give them to me."

Lanie's gaze sweeps back and forth over the three older members of the Castle clan. Everything seems so easy, so automatic as they anticipate each other. Her parents are like that too, but she's not sure if she could ever be with Javi. She wonders if he'd even try. While Kate and Rick both order steak fajitas, Lanie goes for the lighter fare of tilapia while Javi selects the hearty carnitas. As dinner goes on, Lanie has less and less faith that any long term relationship with Javier Esposito will work out.

* * *

While the other attendees of the Bar Association get-together are circulating and enjoying assorted alcoholic beverages, Jim Beckett has his fingers firmly wrapped around a glass of club soda with a swizzle stick in it. He has no intention of stirring the liquid, but the stick makes it easier to blend in without some idiot encouraging him to seize the day and live it up.

The food isn't much to write home about. He's never cared for making a meal of attractively arrayed tidbits - he'd much rather have a steak, a hamburger, or better yet a ballpark hot dog. Once he conducts his business, he can leave and get something more substantial to eat. Katie asked him to try to recruit more volunteer, or at least low cost, legal services for OOTC. He's called most of the attorneys he knows who might be interested in providing a helping hand, but so far he's struck out.

From across the room, he recognizes Lydia Matlock. As a defense counsel, she pursues different types of cases than he does, but they've crossed paths a few times. He's found her dedication to serving the little guy admirable - usually.

According to the Ledger, Lydia is Joey Banks' lawyer. Since she is court-appointed, it's possible she had little choice in the matter, but it isn't the most savory association. Nevertheless, of the people in the room, she seems to be Jim's most likely prospect. He weaves his way through the crowd to where she's staring at the unsatisfying contents of what's passing for a buffet table.

Lydia looks at the man who's just arrived at the pitiful display of what was billed as food. He's not reaching for any of it either. "Jim Beckett, right? I remember when they gave you the public service award for your defense of consumer's rights to accurate labeling. You did good work."

"Perhaps I should bring suit against whoever advertised this as dinner," Jim responds.

Lydia shrugs. "It might be for a supermodel trying to fit into a size zero."

"There's a steakhouse about two blocks from here that serves a good top sirloin. Would you like to join me? I'm involved in some other work you might find interesting to discuss. The pie there isn't bad either."

She turns to him with the first smile she's had since the court stuck her with Joey Banks. "You had me at steak, Jim, but pie sounds wonderful. And I'm dying for some black coffee."

Jim offers her his arm. "I could use some myself."


	30. Chapter 30

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 30

The dinner crowd at the Jarvis Steak House has thinned enough for Jim Beckett and Lydia Matlock to be shown to a table as soon as they arrive. The aroma of broiling meat drifting from the grill peaks their appetites as well as their interest in what the evening will reveal.

Following Jim's recommendation, Lydia orders a top sirloin with a loaded baked potato - and a side salad to throw something more healthy into the mix. Alan, their black-aproned server, brings their meals quickly enough that Lydia suspects that the steaks were already on the grill. When she uses the provided serrated knife, she discovers that her order is exactly as requested, medium-rare. Jim also seems pleased with his more well-done entrée.

"So, Jim, what's the project you wanted to discuss?" Lydia asks, scooping a generous dollop of sour cream onto her potato.

He takes a sip of his coffee. "Are you aware of the work of Out of the Cold?"

"It would be strange if I wasn't since its actions led to the apprehension of one of my clients."

"Yes, the paper said that you were representing Joey Banks."

"Once he's sentenced, that case is over for me. And I won't be sorry to be done with it," Lydia admits.

"Not fond of drug dealing murderers?" Jim inquires.

"You know I can't discuss the details, but he isn't my favorite client. And I've decided not to take any more like him. I'm always open to helping the underserved, but I've discovered that accepting court appointments is not necessarily the way that I want to accomplish it."

"Then," Jim responds, leaning forward in his utilitarian wooden chair, "Our timing is perfect. "OOTC not only uncovers the perpetrators of unsolved crimes, it facilitates bringing them to justice, and in at least one case so far, clearing the name of someone who was falsely accused. As you might imagine, there can be quite a bit of legal work involved. There are already some attorneys, myself included, on board. My daughter, Katie, who runs operations, informs me that she needs more. Since OOTC is a nonprofit, funds are limited, but the work is gratifying. I was wondering if you might be interested in taking some of it on."

Lydia lays her knife across the edge of her plate, nodding. "You know, Jim, I just might."

* * *

When Esposito delivers Lanie to her door, she hesitates to let him in.

"That fish make you feel sick or something?" he inquires. "What's wrong?"

Lanie sighs, shaking her head. "I just don't think this is going to work, Javi. We have a good time together, and I love that, but I want my life to be heading somewhere. Right now I feel like we're in a holding pattern and you're in no rush to land. But I want to put down roots, maybe have a family. The booty calls are great, but I want a relationship that goes deeper than that, and I'd don't see ours doing it."

"It's Terry, isn't it?" he demands.

"It's not Terry or anyone except me. I want a life, something real and solid like Kate and Rick have with Callie and Alexis, and I'm sorry, but I don't see myself living one with you."

"So dinner tonight was some kind of a test?"

"Maybe it was, or maybe it just helped me make up my mind. But I know what I want now, Javi, and I need someone who will want it with me."

Esposito's expression flattens. "I guess that's it then. See you next time a body drops, Lanie. Have a nice life."

She stares after him as he turns to go, wondering if she's made a mistake. Recalling the instantly perceptible connection she witnessed between Kate and Rick that evening, she can't believe that she has.

* * *

Martha doesn't need to look at the after-theater supper menu at Sardi's; she knows it by heart. She's in the mood for the asparagus rolled in smoked salmon appetizer. The fact that it's visually suggestive only makes the selection more fun.

She and Jonathan Price have only been out a couple of times, but life is short. Also, he has a new play coming into production, and as its writer/producer/director, he'll be swamped shortly. She wouldn't mind having a chance to convince him that she's perfect for a role, either. She takes a sip of the wine her favorite server, Anthony, brought as soon as she and Jonathan were seated. Tell me more about "In the Mists."

"I'll be bringing it to the Acorn, not the biggest venue, but perfect for what I have in mind."

"It is a lovely theater," Martha agrees, "although it's probably too easy to fall asleep in the seats. I had a snorer once that shook the walls."

Jonathan chuckles. "I don't think anyone will doze off during my play - at least I hope not. I want people to experience all the emotions that accompany a loss with no closure, and understand how difficult it can be to move on."

The feelings Martha experienced when Richard's father disappeared surge through her. As an actor, sense memory is essential, but it is often far from pleasant. "Yes, I understand."

As a director, Jonathan is alert to the sudden distress that etches itself on her face. "I can see that you do. Perhaps you suffered your own unresolved grief. My mother died in childbirth, and my father and my grandmother raised me. I never knew my mother, so I didn't miss her, but Nana and I were very close.

"I came home from school one afternoon when I was 12. Usually, she would have a snack waiting for me, peanut butter and jelly or an egg salad sandwich, but that day she wasn't home, and there was no snack. I figured she was at the store or something and I made my own, but I never saw her again - except in her coffin at her funeral.

"The police found her body in a dumpster. She had been robbed and raped. The bank had a record of her going to an ATM, and the cops figured she must have been followed from there, but whoever it was, stayed out of range of the ATM camera. They never caught him. To this day, I dream of going after the sonofabitch. I wrote the play as a catharsis to purge those feelings."

"It doesn't sound like it did," Martha notes.

"Not entirely, no," Jonathan confesses.

"I know something that might," Martha offers. "Have you ever heard of Out of the Cold?"

Jonathan's eyebrow quirks. "It sounds like a spy movie."

Martha reaches across the table to take his hand. "It's very real. My daughter-in-law, Katherine, started the organization to solve murders the police gave up on. My son Richard is involved as well. The two of them solved mysteries together for the police over two years. I don't know all the details, but Out of the Cold has experienced detectives and scientists, and lab equipment that I understand no institution in the country can match. If anyone can find out who killed your grandmother, it's OOTC. If you like, I can ask Katherine to give you a call."

"After all this time, would solving Nana's murder even be possible?" Jonathan wonders.

Martha nods sagely. "You'd be surprised, darling. Richard and Katherine have put the sword to more than one Gordian knot."

"Then," Jonathan supposes, "I have nothing to lose. Give your daughter-in-law my private number.


	31. Chapter 31

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 31

There aren't many empty chairs in the courtroom when Pete Russo is arraigned for the murder of Jeremy Bursor. The press and members of the Bursor family occupy most of the seats, but Jake finds a spot in the back.

Russo almost got away. Jake guesses that something buzzed through the back room grapevine that caused Pete to make a run for the border just as a warrant was issued for his arrest. With his eyes - or his binoculars - on his quarry, Jake phoned in a tip and Russo was picked up before he made it to the entry point to Tijuana.

As Jake expected, Russo is accompanied by counsel - high powered from what the detective can see. Their suits are definitely not off the rack, and the shoes don't come from a discount store. Pete Russo pleads innocent of course, adding a fervent protest that he was set up, until Judge Melanie Hardwick urges counsel to control their client.

No doubt Russo's accomplished his purpose, nevertheless. The Press-Telegram and probably the L.A. news outlets as well will give the murderous pol's side of the story. In the end, it won't matter. The evidence will speak for itself. The fact that Russo headed for Mexico will also add a perception of guilt.

Jake's planning on catching a flight to New York that afternoon, but he'll have to return for the trial - if there is one. Without his testimony as to the chain of custody of the cigarette butt and the soiled napkin, any half-awake lawyer could get the case dismissed. Terry may have to fly out too if Russo puts up his own experts. Jake would enjoy watching Terry put them in the ground.

In the meantime, once Jake turns his report in to Kate, he'll head up to Connecticut. He promised his grandchildren a trip to Chuck E. Cheese, and they would be slow to forgive if he reneges. It's not his favorite pizza, but the salad bar isn't half-bad, and he's always loved Skee-Ball.

* * *

Montgomery regards the detective sprawling in the chair opposite his desk. Farley Kutcher is not the type of recruit Roy had pictured for OOTC. He isn't at the younger or older end of the spectrum. Kutcher spent a few years out of college playing professional basketball before going back to school for a degree in criminal justice. He worked his way up to detective in the N.Y.P.D., almost as quickly as Kate had, but was sidelined by a stray bullet. The injury to his leg would put him, at best, on desk duty on the force, but Montgomery doesn't see it as a barrier to working for OOTC. If anything, Kutcher's height will be more of a problem. He will stand out in a crowd. On the other hand, it will make it easier for him to spot a suspicious person in one. "Why do you want to work for OOTC?" Montgomery queries. "If it's for the salary, you'll be disappointed."

"I'm not here for money," Kutcher explains. "I did OK when I was playing ball, and I made some investments. Athlete's Boost water hit, and when YAP Snacks bought the company, I made out big. I want to do something with my life that means more than lighting up a scoreboard. Being a cop did that for me until I was forced out of the action. I used to live in the neighborhood where Joey Banks killed Maura Hicks and those other girls. What you all did to help bring him to justice impressed me. I think Out of the Cold is the kind of place I can still make a difference."

"We don't have as much paperwork for you to go through as the N.Y.P.D. does," Montgomery explains, "but we have our share. And we will be double-checking your background. Do you play poker?"

Kutcher stiffens in his seat. "What?"

"Rick and Kate Beckett-Castle host poker games. They keep the stakes low for working stiffs and Rick makes a dip that you would not believe. I'll be going to one tonight if you're interested in tagging along. Some others from OOTC will be there too. You can get acquainted and see if you like the fit."

"Sounds like fun."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to come to the game tonight?" Kate asks as she and Lanie share a short phone call while they're grabbing quick lunches."

"I'm sure," Lanie confirms, "as long as Javi won't be there. I don't think I could handle that right now."

"No Esposito or Ryan. It's more of an OOTC gathering," Kate explains. "Lisa Anderson and Terry will be there, and Roy Montgomery is bringing a new guy who might be coming to work with us."

"Sounds like just what I need," Lanie decides.

* * *

Jackson raps his coded cadence on the door of Rita's apartment. He has no idea if she'll even be there. At Duchess, he's more out of the loop on assignments, and technically she's aligned with a different branch of the alphabet soup than he is. His face splits in a grin as he almost immediately hears her footsteps.

The redhead quickly waves him inside. "I was wondering when you'd make it back to my door. Having a good time playing teacher?"

Hunt throws his jacket on a chair. "The duty has its moments. Charlie did a great job setting things up, but I've rearranged some of the scenarios to reflect what I've encountered recently. The company's been doing some smart recruiting, focusing on Arabic, Dari, and Pashto speakers. I've been putting some of the new prospects through their paces. Once I get them trained in, they should be useful over there."

Rita flicks an errant strand of white hair from Jackson's forehead. "You look good, Hunt."

He cups her cheek in his broad palm. "You look good too. Hey, you want to go somewhere? There's a nice Italian place I saw Richard take Kate, the kind with a house wine, and candles in straw-covered bottles on the table."

"Really? Usually, you're more interested in staying in."

Jackson shrugs. "Things have changed for me, and I thought we could use a change too."

"It would be a switch for me," she confides. "You wouldn't believe the crap I was stuck eating on my last assignment."

Hunt grimaces. "I bet I would. Have you ever had _khash_? I don't know what's worse, the taste or the smell."

"No. I think my worst adventure in dining was _sannakji_. One of the live octopus tentacles tried to suck on my lip."

Hunt smooths his thumb over her mouth. "I can't fault it for trying. Your lips have their attractions."

Rita tugs at his hand. "Hunt, if you really want to go to dinner, we'd better get out of here now."

He nods, crooking his elbow. "Then let's get going."

* * *

Large as the gaming table at the spacious loft is, Farley can barely fit his legs beneath it. He hopes that the last player, who will be arriving to fill the chair next to him, won't need much room. His mouth gapes at the woman who follows Kate in after the door buzzer sounds. If God truly made angels, one of them has arrived to play cards - and she'll be right beside him.


	32. Chapter 32

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 32

The Italian bistro is like a scene out of a movie. The tables are covered in red and white checkered cloths, the bottles holding the candles are coated in multicolor wax drippings, and the waiters are attentive.

Hunt could do with a little less attention. He'd been planning to say his piece over the antipasto, but with the pouring of the wine and recitation of the chef's unique creations, he didn't have a chance to get the words out. He decides it might be better to try over the entrée, or better yet dessert - if Rita wants dessert. She's never been much for sweets, at least not that he's observed. Well, coffee anyway - a bracing espresso.

Rita asks if Hunt's had a chance to look in on his family. He confides that he managed to witness a livestream of Alexis' fencing tournament - which she won. He also heard a radio interview with Richard, but otherwise, he's kept his distance. Even if his assignment has changed, he still, as she well knows, has enemies. While she may be able to see trouble coming as well as he can, the loyal family dog would be no match for a Kalashnikov or any of the other weapons that might be turned against his family as revenge for Hunt's lifetime of activities. He does plan to keep an eye on them the best that he can whenever he's in the city and is hoping to be able to watch Callie grow up - from afar.

"You aren't the lone wolf you pretend to be, are you, Hunt?" Rita asks, after his outpouring.

With a shadow of a smile, he shakes his head. "I've been finding out that I'm not. But you and I are the same. We only feel right being with someone who knows how to handle the risks. So, um, I was wondering if you might like to get married."

"Hunt, are you proposing to me?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring. "I figured that after your experience in South Africa you're not a big fan of diamonds. This is a carnelian. I saw you looking at one once on a necklace a woman was wearing when we were on a mission together."

"Is there anything you don't notice, Hunt?"

"How fast the years were going by. Look, Rita. We've both lived a lot of our lives not knowing if we were going to make it through the next 30 seconds. If you're willing, I'd like to make sure we waste as little time as we can of whatever we might have left. So will you marry me?"

She runs a fingertip over the white stubble forming on his jaw. "Sure, Hunt. Why not?"

* * *

Lanie's eyes lock with Farley Kutcher's as Kate makes introductions, and almost bumps her elbow on the table while squeezing into her seat. "Buy-in is 20 bucks, but we can settle up later," Rick announces, passing a pile of multicolor chips across the table. "Anyone want anything before we start? Water? Juice, fermented or otherwise? Beer? Scotch?"

While Montgomery happily accepts two fingers of Scotch, Kate opts for orange juice with no additions, Terry requests a beer, and Lisa, Lanie, and Farley choose water. Rick passes the cards to Montgomery to cut before he deals. He announces that straying from the current fad; the game will be five card draw.

Lanie accepts Rick's declaration with some relief. She's familiar with his choice from the few times she's tried the poker machines in Atlantic City, but most of what she knows about Texas Hold'em comes from Esposito's accounts of near-triumphs he scored at previous games. Even with her understanding of the rules and the odds, the pile of chips at her place dwindles as she spends more time glancing at Farley than at her cards. He seems to be having a similar problem, succeeding in winning only one hand. When their fingers meet on an ante, Lanie feels sparks dancing on her skin. Not long after they've both exhausted their stakes, he offers to take her home.

* * *

Kutcher opens the passenger door of his Kia Optima for Lanie. He could easily afford a more upscale vehicle, but it was this or the Hyundai Azera for the most legroom. As far as he can tell, Lanie's not paying attention to the car anyway. That's a relief from the women he's dated who wondered why he wasn't chauffeuring them around in something with more flash.

Forcing himself to concentrate on the road rather than the incarnation of beauty just across the console, he weaves his way through city traffic to the address she gave him for her apartment. As he expected, the neighborhood is less pricy than the one housing the Beckett-Castle loft, but her building has a stately feel that seems appropriate somehow.

On the walk through the lobby and during the short elevator ride, Lanie's thoughts are whirling with an internal debate about what to do when she and Farley make it to her door. Invite him in? Kiss him good night? They weren't even on a date, but she can't resist those eyes, even if she has to crane her neck to see them. As she pulls out her key, he solves the problem for her. "I'd really like to see you again."

After fumbling in her purse for a pen, she writes her cellphone number on his palm. "Call me."

* * *

Kate tosses her phone on her desk after a conversation with Jonathan Price. She's vaguely familiar with his work, partly from what she's heard from Martha and partly from blurbs here and there in the entertainment section of the Ledger. Martha had passed on the story of Price's grandmother, but it took on a new dimension when Kate heard it from the man himself, his deep voice rising and almost cracking. The search for the perpetrator won't be easy, but at least there may be some kind of a trail from police investigations of rapes and ATM muggings in the area where Lillian Price died. The work may even lead to solving more cold cases.

Farley Kutcher isn't officially on board with OOTC yet, although she expects him to be soon. Jake, however, is free unless he has to return to California. Even if he does, it would only be for a day or two. Jake is dogged enough to chase down every lead and has the skills to do it. He's also mentioned being a Martha Rodgers fan. She can set up a meeting for him with Price and Martha. Jake will be over the moon, and Martha is usually fond of meeting admirers. Price could also be a valuable supporter of OOTC.

Kate rubs her eyes. Lanie called at 6 a.m. with a torrent of questions about Farley Kutcher. The last time Kate recalls hearing a girlfriend babbling about a guy that way it was Maddie Queller in 10th grade. She answered the queries that she could. The results of his in-depth background check aren't in yet, and even if they were, she couldn't share them. She did assure her friend that the man hasn't been convicted of any felonies and doesn't have a wife or any ex-wives lurking in his past. Kate also confirmed that he was a pretty good basketball player and a damn good cop. Other than that, Lanie will have to discover the highs and lows of Kutcher on her own.


	33. Chapter 33

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 33

Rick studies a map of Paris. He's been there enough times to avoid getting lost - mostly. And he's pretty sure that Alexis, having been treated to both Meredith's and Mother's tutelage, could find the fashion houses blindfolded.

The Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, and Notre Dame are no brainers. Kate's said she wants to take some time to absorb the art in the Louvre, but there is so much more. She would probably enjoy the other museums, like the Rodin, Orsay, and Picasso. As a graduate of the vaunted technical high school, Stuyvesant, she could also be fascinated by the City of Science. He knows it will grab Alexis' attention.

What he'd love to do is explore the catacombs with Kate - feeding off each other to spin stories. It would be like taking a mystery solving page out of Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. Rick could weave their experience into an adventure for Heat and Rook, but that's not why he wants to do it. He and Kate have always had so much fun building theory together. It was two years' worth of foreplay and worth every minute.

The trip is a little over a month away, but Black Pawn still hasn't finalized his appearance schedule. Without knowing where he'll be and when, he can't solidly settle on any itinerary, but he can enjoy considering the possibilities.

He also wants to have a _tête à tête_ with Roy Montgomery. With the growing stable of OOTC detectives, someone will need to manage the cases while Kate is gone, or she'll never be able to untether herself from her work. Roy has always been the consummate manager and the perfect choice to pick up the slack - if he can postpone a fishing trip or two. Rick is willing to spring for a fancy charter to fulfill Roy's piscatory dreams if it will give Kate some freedom to enjoy everything France can offer.

Rick's French could be a lot better, but Kate is almost fluent, and Alexis is her French Club's star. They can get along without a translator, except for whomever Black Pawn uses for his PR appearances. As he understands it, the French are more into his expressions and gestures than they are what comes out of his mouth. _À chacun ses goûts_.

What he and Kate will need is some help with Callie while Alexis is exhausting his credit cards, and they are unlocking Paris' secrets. He's put out a feeler to a Paris-based consultant he used for background in Derrick Storm books and is hoping for a recommendation. That is one detail he wants to be sure he has in place.

Rick pushes away from his desk as Callie's complaint comes through the monitor. Kate nursed their daughter before she left for OOTC, so hunger isn't a question. The infant probably needs a change and some amusement. He's on it. But _bien sûr_, locking in a Callie-pal is a top priority before breaching French shores.

* * *

Jake rotates his shoulders to work out the kinks from his early train ride into the city. He didn't mind catching the commuter special from Hartford to New York. A chance to meet the Grand Dame of the White Way, Martha Rodgers, is irresistible. Other than what Kate's told him, he doesn't know much about Jonathan Price, but if Martha thinks the man is worthy of OOTC's attention, Jake is not about to dispute it.

As soon as he reaches Penn Station, Jake will be heading for a café a few blocks away for the breakfast meeting. He's never been big on those. After years of late-night stake-outs, when not roused by his grandchildren, he usually prefers to sleep in, but this morning, his eyes were wide-open before the alarm on his phone sounded. Martha Rodgers had invaded his dreams and was urging him to get up and moving. He even played a video of Martha belting out "Rose's Turn" from Gypsy, while he was shaving.

The Breakfast Bounty is smaller than Jake had imagined, but the buffet is bigger, running almost the length of a wall. While Martha appears to have stuck almost entirely to fresh fruit to accompany a small chunk of smoked whitefish, Price opted for oatmeal. What man eats oatmeal for breakfast? Jake settles on sausage and scrambled eggs - thankfully not the reconstituted powder found in some of the motel spreads he's been subjected too.

Price barely touches even his meager fare as he fills in the blanks of the story Kate conveyed earlier. Jake takes careful notes. Jake can see Jonathan reliving his grief as he recounts every detail he can remember, while Martha lays her hand on her companion's. There's no element of the hard-driving Mama Rose in the marvelous Ms. Rodgers that morning, just sympathy and support. If anything, it makes Jake admire Kate's mother-in-law more.

Jake puts his notebook aside and takes a sip of strong coffee. "Mr. Price, I'm sure Ms. Beckett-Castle told you that finding the man who attacked your grandmother won't be easy. But I have a mode of investigation in mind. I'll need access to police records, but the N.Y.P.D. has been cooperative with Out of the Cold."

"Much to the N.Y.P.D.'s benefit," Martha adds.

"We have been able to close some tough cases," Jake agrees. "Searches like this aren't straightforward. Many of the records haven't been digitized, and not all of the evidence has been properly preserved. But this type of crime rarely occurs in isolation. A perpetrator sick enough to commit one will often commit others, forming a pattern and adding more pieces to the puzzle. If those clues are there, I promise you that I will pursue every one of them."

"That's all anyone could ask for," Martha declares. "When can you get started, Mr. Lipman?"

Jake takes the last swallow of his coffee. "Right now, Ms. Rodgers."

* * *

The papers that Jackson and Rita present at the City Clerk's office backing up the identities they have assumed were well crafted and easily pass muster. Hunt returns to Duchess to oversee operations while the 24-hr. waiting period passes, but he's back to take Rita to City Hall, together with co-workers to stand as witnesses.

Hunt briefly wishes that Richard could be in attendance, but then even if that were possible, he wonders how his son would feel about Jackson marrying someone other than Martha. Not that Hunt thinks she'd have been interested even if such a thing was possible. According to the Ledger, Martha's been seen on the town with a theater guy, Jonathan Price.

Jackson's not jealous - really. Rita is precisely the woman he both wants and needs, but he always feels twinges of regret that he couldn't have been there for Martha when she needed support, and Richard needed a father. He also wishes he could have tracked down the scum who made off with her life savings and made him pay. There's not a thing he can do about that now. The jerk and the money are long gone. At least Richard picked up the ball and took his mother in. Hunt's proud to have a son like that, even if Jackson was essentially a sperm donor. Martha got on with her life long ago, and she's obviously still enjoying it. Jackson will try to do the same with Rita for as long as they both shall live - however long that may be.

A/N The new chapter of my The Rookie story, The Way Back, is posted.


	34. Chapter 34

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 34

Hunt was less nervous when perched on a hill in Afghanistan than he is waiting in line to get married at the City Clerk's office. He and Rita took the online tip not to show up at lunch hour or on a holiday like Valentine's Day. It's an ordinary Wednesday at 2:30 in the afternoon when there is less competition to tie the knot. With the ceremony taking only about 90 seconds, the line is moving fast. Ninety seconds to make a commitment for a lifetime. It takes a lot longer than that to be briefed on a mission. But then who ever thought the world makes sense? He rarely has. It's been a perennial game of chess. He takes pieces and loses them, but never reaches mate. He'll have a mate now if he can make it through those 90 seconds.

The resident wedding photographer is surprised and a little confused. Couples rarely refuse his pictures, and when they do, they usually have a friend or a family member take some. But the older couple is completely camera-shy. If they're really that afraid of the lens, they'd better be careful. With the proliferation of cell phones, photos are taken almost every minute in the Clerk's office. They may find themselves unwillingly caught.

* * *

Rick stares unbelievingly at his phone. There's a wedding picture on Instagram of Reggie Southwick, an up and coming author he follows. At first, it looks like the usual "Hot damn we did it!" shot of a newly married duo, but there's another couple at the edge of the frame. They are slightly out of focus, but something chimes in Rick's brain. Using his thumb and forefinger on the tiny screen, he zooms in as much as he can, but he's still not sure what he's seeing. He needs to view the image on his computer. Maybe he can download some software to clean it up a bit.

With Callie spending the day at OOTC with Kate, Rick can concentrate on the project without having to stop to provide silly daddy faces or perform diaper changing duties. It takes him the better part of the morning to sharpen the features he can only see in profile, but he manages well enough. The white hair, the dark eyebrow, the shape of the nose; it's his father. "No relationships, huh?" he mutters under his breath. The sonofabitch was getting married! He couldn't be a father, but he can be a husband? Fury burns in Rick's gut. But hell! Wedding records are public. He can find out who got married at the clerk's office around the same time as Reggie. Then he can track his old man down and demand an explanation better than the B.S. his father handed to him in the park.

* * *

"Gregor, you should see this," Andrei insists handing Volkov the phone. "We've had the recognition program running full time, and we have a 60 percent probability that this is the man who called himself Jackson Hunt."

"More like the demon who called himself Hunt," Volkov spits. "He killed my Anna without remorse. He's going to have some now, as long and painful as I can make it. Where was the picture taken?"

"The tag says New York City."

"Volkov nods. _Idti_. I can get credentials as an attaché at the United Nations and move around as I wish. I will find him, and Anna will have her justice."

* * *

"Ready to go?" Farley Kutcher asks as he meets Lanie at the door of her lab.

Lanie takes his arm. "I've been ready since you asked me. It's been a long time since I've been to a basketball game. Rick gave away his floor seats to the detectives at the 12th sometimes, but those were strictly boys nights out. I used to like playing when I was in high school. After six years of ballet lessons, I was pretty good at jump shots."

Kutcher grins down at his five foot four date. "I would love to have seen that."

"It would have been great to have you there. I would have loved to see you play, too, but most of your games were on the West Coast. Why did you stop?" she asks as they make their way to his sedan.

His sigh is audible. "For most of the other players, basketball was a passion. Everything they did was about the game. I like basketball, but for me, it was a means to an end. It got me into college, but as it turned out, I couldn't prepare for a career there. Basketball took too much of my time. It took a lot of it when I went professional too. And there were other complications. When my contract was up, and I knew I could afford to get out, I needed to do something that felt worthwhile. So I became a cop. But now that I can't do everything important to me to accomplish as one, I'm joining up with Out of the Cold. Kate, Terry, Lisa, Montgomery are all doing an incredible service for people the system has failed. That mission calls to me. I want to be a part of it."

"I know Kate wants you to," Lanie responds, as they approach his car. "So does Montgomery, or he would never have brought you to Rick's and Kate's loft for poker. Since their daughter, Callie, was born, visitors have been pretty limited, and they all have to be Custos-approved."

Kutcher opens the passenger door for Lanie, grinning again. "Oh, the dog. I don't think I've ever seen one that big, or with that much fur, but he seemed friendly enough."

"That's because you were introduced as acceptable to the pack. That's a privilege, believe me."

"Not as much of a privilege as it is to have your company this evening, Dr. Parish," Kutcher replies, before thankfully taking his place behind the wheel.

* * *

Kate sleepily shuffles into Rick's office. "Babe, it's 1 a.m. Are you still trying to find the marriage record of the guy you think is your father?"

"I know he's my father. And I found a name. It's the only one that fits the timeline. He's going by Anderson Cross and the woman he married called herself Sadie Cooper. The problem is that Anderson Cross is a phantom - or more like a legend - a CIA identity. There are addresses for him, former employers, college, but it's all smoke and mirrors. When I look deeper none of it seems real. Any images of him at any of those places and times are so low quality they could be anyone. And there are no remembrances. No one wrote about him in a yearbook. Other than professional references he's not on social media. No 'Anderson Cross, what a great guy,' or any trolling either."

"He might not do social media. I don't, except to promote OOTC. You know that. And you're always after Alexis to watch what she puts out there. Maybe, Anderson Cross, whoever he is, is just a private person."

"Kate, Anderson Cross isn't a person at all, he's as much a fictional construct as Derrick Storm. I have some intelligence contacts - besides Agent Grey- that I haven't used in a long time. If anyone will know how to find out who Anderson Cross or Jackson Hunt really is, they will. I need to settle this once and for all."

"Unless you're planning on waking up your sources in the middle of the night, you're not going to do it now. Come to bed. Remember our mantra. 'We get our sleep while we can, between Callie-calls.'"

"You're right, but I'll make my own call," he checks the time at the bottom of his screen, "in six hours."


	35. Chapter 35

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 35

"Rick, it's been a long time," Sophia purrs. "And I see you have a new muse. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"Sophia, you made an off-handed comment once about my father being proud of me. But when I asked you what you meant, you claimed you were joking. I believed you then, but I'm less naïve now - about many things. I know my old man worked for the company then and still does. We've had a moment or two together when he laid a pile of crap on me. Now I need the truth from you and him. So where the hell is he?"

"You didn't use to be that blunt," Rick.

"I didn't use to be a lot of things, including being married to a woman who didn't sleep with me only to get bored and go onto her next conquest. You don't have to read me into any classified operations. Jackson Hunt, Anderson Cross or whoever he really is - just tell me where to find the old bastard."

"Tsk, tsk, Rick, that's no way to talk about your father."

"If he'd been willing to be one, I wouldn't be. So, where is he?"

"Actually, Rick, that is classified, but I can pass along a message that you want to talk to him, and tell him that when you're like this, you're too stubborn to let go. I experienced enough of that when we were working together. He should believe it. The apple didn't fall far from the tree."

"Far enough, I hope," Rick retorts. "I don't abandon my family."

"Well good for you, Rick. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Jake is on his third cup of coffee as he slogs through the files of crimes taking place within the proximity of ATMs. Most of them don't apply; they were robberies that happened in the wee hours of the morning. Price's grandmother was attacked in broad daylight. In most of the other cases, no one was injured either.

What happened to Lillian Price was a relatively rare incident. Whoever raped and murdered her was one sick bastard. But then anyone who rapes and murders a grandmother - or any woman - is one sick bastard. So maybe it had nothing to do with the ATM. The fact that Lillian used one might have been the red herring that led the investigation astray.

Jake needs to start over, concentrating on rape-murders. Mercifully, there are fewer of those, but they are a lot more gut-wrenching than robberies.

For a moment, the grief he suffered when he lost his wife washes over him. The man who had taken her life hadn't been sick, just thoughtless. He'd been trying to retrieve the breakfast sandwich he'd dropped while commuting to work when he took his eyes off the road and smashed his monster SUV into the driver's side of Francie's energy-efficient compact. She'd endured pain Jake can't even begin to imagine, from numerous broken bones and damaged organs, before God ended her agony by taking her.

It's a strange coincidence that Martha Rodgers was his lifeline while he suffered through his darkest times. She and Francie were born in the same month, were almost the same age, and seemed to share the same wholehearted embrace of life. He watched her old TV shows - even the one with Bill Bixby turning into a green Lou Ferrigno. He listened to her music and went to her plays and musicals when he could scrape up the money. That he can do something now to try to help her - or her friend - seems only fair.

More coffee will burn a hole in Jake's stomach when he explores the cases more similar to Lillian's. He can deal with that. He'll stock up on antacids.

* * *

Hunt is surprised to see Sophia Turner. He's aware of her expertise with weapons as well as the other methods she uses in her tradecraft. Duchess can be of little help in preparing her for the types of missions she's assigned. Nevertheless, even newly married, he'll enjoy talking to a woman whose personal assets play such a substantial role in making her an asset to the organization.

"Hello, Hunt, or as your son called you when he phoned me this morning, Anderson Cross."

"What the hell? How could Richard know about Anderson Cross?"

"Rick's resourceful, Hunt - more than you know. He found out somehow. From the sound of what he said, he found out a lot more, and whatever it was, he was more pissed off than I've ever heard him be before, including when I broke things off with him."

"I could have told you never to sleep with a trainee, especially not my son. So what are you expecting me to do about it? I can't put him in the crosshairs. He's jumped in front of a bullet once. He might not survive another one."

"Then you're going to have to find some way of getting together with him out of the line of fire. Hunt, he's not going to give up. We both know that. And he might get himself killed anyway trying to track you down. Go see the man, sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I guess I'll have to."

* * *

Volkov's diplomatic papers got him quickly through customs at Kennedy International Airport. The driver of the limousine sporting diplomatic plates isn't having nearly as easy a time delivering his passenger to Manhattan.

Anxious as he is to get to Hunt, Volkov uses the time in what he considers a decadently luxurious vehicle to go over his plans. Hunt won't be easy to locate. He never is, but the man has passions. One of them is for better types of ammunition, the kind developed in a facility the CIA believes is secret. The KGB planted a mole there years ago, now long gone. But the FSB still keeps tabs on the place. It's always good to know what an adversary has in the pipeline.

No doubt, Hunt will show up, if he hasn't already. Clever as the assassin is, Volkov is smarter. He always has been. He'll track Hunt to his lair. Once he does, he's not sure what methods of torture he'll apply, just that he'll relish every moment that Hunt suffers. As far as Volkov knows, there has never been anyone Hunt cared about as much as Gregor loved Anna. But things change. Once Gregor has eyes on Hunt, he'll find out if the man has let anyone breach the block of ice that masquerades as a heart. If there is someone that close to Anna's murderer, that person will be the key to a plan.

The limo finally pulls up in front of the diplomatic residence. The luggage the driver helps Gregor carry inside contains no weapons. Those will have arrived by diplomatic pouch to be delivered separately. But until they come, Volkov will use his access to a secure computer system and any surveillance reports generated while he was in route. He can also get some decent borscht and pierogies. A little vodka wouldn't hurt either, but not too much. Gregor can't afford to cloud his judgment or compromise his skills. Hunt has his flaws, but underestimating him could be fatal. Gregor will not be the one to die.


	36. Chapter 36

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 36

When Skippy Tomlinson came up with the penetrating rounds coated not with scratchable and relatively fragile Teflon, but with an oxide hard coat impregnated with a moly lube that sailed through armor, the Company research facility near the docks in lower Manhattan was dubbed the "Skip Works." The name stuck. The installation is one of Hunt's favorite places. He's always been interested in ways to take out his targets quickly, efficiently and without collateral damage. Now that he's running Duchess, the integration of new weapons technology is even more critical.

Hunt is greeted warmly by Justin Schermer, affectionately known for his ability to keep his inventive geniuses, particularly Skippy, on task while allowing them some leeway for creative play. Hunt can't help thinking that Richard would love to know about the collection of lightsabers, the kind with real lasers in them, that Schermer keeps around for break time battles. The kitchen is stocked with soft drinks containing three times the caffeine of a triple espresso, energy bars, and a wide selection of jellybeans.

Hunt is more interested in bullets than breakfast, and Justin takes him through the newest developments. His people have yet to discover anything as effective as they'd like against the shielding ability of the latest alloy created by the Russians. It's an offshoot - or more like a steal - from the version of aluminum jointly developed by the U.S. and Canada to make sturdy but lightweight trucks. Hunt takes note that he should incorporate the adversary's newest toy into a Duchess scenario. That information alone was worth the trip.

From half a mile away, through a scope delivered to him early that morning, Volkov watches Hunt exit the Skip Works. The Company wet boy looks pleased with himself. He won't be much longer. Volkov observed what car Hunt is driving and he can follow it by satellite without Hunt detecting a tail.

Hunt decides to make a stop at Rita's apartment before biting his personal bullet and seeking out Richard. The detour will be partly because he wants to see his new wife and partly procrastination. He doesn't want to consider which aspect is higher on his list.

* * *

Rita plunks down on the edge of the couch next to where Hunt is sprawled. "Sophia is right, Hunt. You need to go talk to Richard again. If he picked up on your Anderson Cross identity, God knows what else he knows. He might have Sadie Cooper too. He could track you through me. This is a fire you need to put out before it spreads."

"I know," Hunt admits. "But I need to take precautions before I go to his loft - at least enough to fool facial recognition."

"You know where that hat and sunglasses are. You want me to help you with a beard?"

"I'd appreciate it. I haven't seen any sign of a tail, but all the way over here, I've had the feeling that something is off."

"You're looking for excuses," Rita insists. "I monitored the chatter this morning. The only mentions were of a suspicious diplomatic pouch and a new addition to the Russian U.N. staff. Probably their newest junior spy in training. The FSB brings one in about every two months."

"Nice to know the FSB is keeping busy," Hunt replies, pushing up from his seat. "All right. I'll get it done, but don't go overboard on the facial hair. I don't want some little kid mistaking me for Santa Claus and trying to get in a wish list before the crowd."

"Hunt, you could be taken for a lot of things, but I doubt Santa Claus would ever be one of them."

The grin that spreads over Volkov's face when he watches the redhead kiss a now-bearded Hunt is more demonic than joyful. So, there's a woman. If she went along with his disguise, she must have some understanding of his activities. She might even be involved. That makes her a potential target, but possibly not the most effective one.

Hunt is returning to his car, and Gregor can continue to track him. The assassin's next stop may be even more enlightening. Volkov's patience is becoming short, but he has enough of it left to find out.

* * *

Kate's hesitant to leave for OOTC. Rick's been sinking deeper and deeper into a dark hole ever since concluding that his father got married. She can understand his distress and anger. The no-relationships excuse Hunt or Cross or whatever his name is made for essentially deserting Rick and Martha made sense when he offered it but makes little now. Rick spent his whole life without the benefit of any kind of reliable father figure and watching his mother try without success to find someone she could love the way she remembered loving Rick's father.

As easygoing as Rick is on the surface, the hurt has always been lurking just beneath, expressed as his constant search for admiration and validation. Twenty-six best-sellers and counting never made up for the loss. For the last couple of days, even Callie's coos and snuggles are only bringing a fleeting smile to his face.

Kate can work from home. Jake will be reporting in, but he'll call her cellphone. She can go through the in-depth background on Farley Kutcher on her laptop. Montgomery's already seen it and declared that there isn't anything that would preclude OOTC from officially taking Kutcher on, but if there's something that might be relevant to Farley's relationship with Lanie, Kate wants to know about it.

Kutcher's backstory looks pretty good. He managed to maintain a 3.6 GPA in high school despite being the star of the basketball team - not an easy thing to do. He did pretty well in college too, just missing cum laude, and was drafted by the Detroit Pistons, playing until his contract was up. As he'd told Montgomery, he'd had luck with his investments and is in no need of money.

The grooves Rick teases her about appear in Kate's forehead as she reads about the restraining order Farley took out against a woman named Janelle Hudson who had been arrested for breaking into his home. Apparently, security guards had to keep her away from the locker room several times too. So Kutcher had a stalker. Lanie said he'd told her there had been complications when he was playing; he just hadn't gone into what kind. It's nothing Kate can blame Farley for. The world is full of crazies, and he left that one behind in Michigan.

"So, are you satisfied that Lanie's new flame isn't some desperate blackguard in disguise?" Rick asks, gently circling his hand against the tiny back of the baby snuggled against his shoulder.

Kate flips her laptop closed and rises from her chair. "A clean bill of health- thank God. Lanie's so head-over-heels for Farley she's practically walking on the ceiling."

"Which would put her at about his eye level," Rick quips.

"You seem to be feeling better."

"Nothing like Callie-cuddling to lift the spirits. And I've been thinking more about my father - or more to the point, his absence. I believe in a way, it spurred me on. I wanted to prove that I could handle things on my own - succeeding as a writer, raising Alexis. Maybe the old man did me a favor."

"You know," Kate reminds him, stroking his cheek, "you don't have to manage on your own anymore."

Shifting his hold on Callie, Rick manages to kiss the top of Kate's head. "And for that, I am incredibly grateful."


	37. Chapter 37

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 37

It takes a moment for Rick to recognize the man standing on his threshold and staring at him and the baby in his arms. The height, dark eyebrows, and white hair, however, are a dead giveaway - even with the beard. And Custos let out with his family yip. "Jackson Hunt - or should I say Anderson Cross?"

"You could say, 'Dad,'" Jackson suggests.

The muscles on Rick's jawbones pop. "You've hardly earned that."

"Maybe not," Hunt acknowledges, "but Sophia Turner seems to think that an explanation is in order."

"I would guess she stated it more strongly than that, but I'm listening."

"Are we going to do this with me standing out in the hall, or are you going to invite me in?"

"Let him come in, Richard," Martha calls from the stairs leading down from her room. "I have a few questions of my own."

Rick hands Callie to Kate and waves Jackson inside, but not to a chair or the couch. They stand face to face. "You can start by explaining how a man who claims that it is too dangerous to maintain personal relationships just married a woman named Sadie Cooper."

Hunt shakes his head. "That's not her name any more than Anderson Cross is mine." He reaches out to put a hand on Rick's shoulder, but Rick pulls away. "Look, my wife is the only kind of person I could ever be close to. She's trained in the trade. She knows the dangers and has agreed to them." His gaze flicks back and forth between Rick and Martha. "I would never expose either one of you to that kind of risk - or your family either. Your daughters are my granddaughters, and Kate is my daughter-in-law. And if it wasn't for my peculiar set of skills, you and she might be six feet under. Given the circumstances, I've tried my best to protect you."

Martha charges down the stairs, eyes blazing. "I could have used a little protection when I had to raise your son alone. I could have used some when my second husband took off with every penny I had. If it hadn't been for Richard, I would have been out on the street. Where the hell were you then?"

"Where I've been most of my life, Martha, in one hole or another serving my country. I did the best I could, and staying away was part of that."

"So, what now?" Rick asks. "You disappear again?"

"I have to, but the situation has changed a little. I'll always be what I am, but I'm not going to be that far away. If you need me, I'll be around."

"Don't do us any favors," Martha spits out.

"I think you'd better leave now," Rick adds.

Hunt doesn't move. "I'd like to see the baby – and Alexis if she's here."

"You've seen Callie, and Alexis has an extended session at school." Rick insists. "Thankfully, Callie won't remember you. She doesn't need that kind of disappointment in her life. Just go."

Hunt turns to leave but looks back over his shoulder. "I never meant for any of this to happen, but I'm proud of you, Richard. You didn't need me to help you grow into a fine man."

"Thank heavens for that," Martha calls after him as he heads for the door.

Volkov gazes up at 429 Broome Street. He'll find out who lives there, and then he can plan his revenge.

* * *

Jake rereads three files of murder rape cases. They all took place in roughly the same area where Lillian Price was attacked and killed, over three years. No perpetrator was ever caught, but the primary detective on one of the cases had vague suspicions. One of the victims, Neddie Wolper, had filed a report that she had been followed. She gave a description of the man, but it was too general to be of much use. And the cop who took her statement had his doubts that it was anything other than the imaginings of an old woman. A marked unit made a few extra rounds in the area where she lived but didn't observe anyone lurking around.

The incident was forgotten until Neddie was killed. At that point, her incensed family demanded justice. The M.E. managed to get a blood type from the semen on the clothes Neddie had been wearing and retrieve some tissue from under her fingernails, but there wasn't much else to go on. D.N.A. amplification was in its infancy. Well, it isn't now. Given the pressure from the Wolper clan, there's a good chance that the evidence was preserved well enough for Terry to work his genius. If OOTC can get a line on Neddie Wolper's killer, it may be the answer to finding Lillian Price's murderer. Maybe Jake can bring some peace to two families.

* * *

Shifting her overloaded backpack, Janelle Hudson disembarks from the Detroit to New York City bus. She figured that Farley Kutcher would return to his hometown. There hadn't been anything about it in the sports news, but a Farley fan has spotted him and posted on Twitter. After that, there had been more sightings, including one of him out on a date.

In Janelle's opinion, the woman he'd been with is way too short for him, and the size of her boobs makes her top heavy. Probably implants. Janelle studied all the bitches that Farley dated before. They came in all shapes and sizes, but Janelle got her own implants just to be sure. They aren't as out of proportion as the ones on his recent date, and they made Janelle feel more beautiful. Losing 30 pounds and having her hair dyed and braided didn't hurt either. She'll show Farley what a fine woman looks like and what he missed out on, but first, she has to find him.

Janelle begged a spot on the couch of a friend from high school she reconnected with on Facebook. She had to promise to kick in for groceries and help clean up the place, but sleeping there will be way cheaper than a hotel. It will be a base from where Janelle can walk the path of Farley sightings. Sooner or later she'll get lucky.

He'll be glad to see her this time. He'll have to be. No one could love him as much as she does or be as good to him as she can. She's memorized every shot he's ever made and every piece of clothing that's been in every picture of him. His favorite foods are her favorite foods, and she's seen every movie he said he liked five times.

Janelle looks down at her shoes. They're the kind he endorsed the second year he was playing. They're getting old, and she's almost worn a hole in one of the soles, but she won't wear anything else - until Farley asks her out. She's seen what will happen then in her dreams. She'll be in Piston colors - a royal blue dress with a red sash and sexy black heels. She'll get her hair rebraided and stud it with shiny red stones. And they'll go to a Broadway show, one where the lovers find each other against all the odds. Then they can stare in each other's eyes in a candlelit restaurant. It will be the most perfect night of Janelle's life, and she will do anything-anything-to get it.


	38. Chapter 38

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 38

Zeke (Mac) McDermott is happy to see Jake. He's delighted to see anyone. With his wife gone and his son living 3,000 miles away, the only visitors he gets are the church elders and deacons who visit him once a month to offer communion and news of the congregation. They try their best to keep him connected to the outside world, but most of his days stretch long and empty.

The degenerative disease that is stealing the strength from Mac's muscles hasn't affected his mind. He remembers the Neddie Wolper case and regrets that he couldn't do more to solve it. She had described the man who followed her as tall, but Neddie was only five foot one. Most people seemed tall to her. She remembered that he was white with dark hair. She also described a strange odor that drifted her way when he was behind her, a little like gas or a skunk. Mac was never able to figure out what that meant.

Mac tells Jake that the M.E. at the time Jacques Dion had told him of his intention to preserve samples of the semen and the scrapings from under Neddie's fingernails. Dr. Dion believed that technology was moving fast enough that an identification would be possible. Dion is retired, but as far as Mac knows, still alive. He might be able to tell Jake more.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Jake inquires.

"Do you have grandchildren?" Mac asks.

Jake nods, smiling at the question. "I do; two boys and a girl. Tommy is five, Zinnia is seven, and Lionel is nine."

"Can I look at their pictures?" Mac requests. "The only kids I see are the ones on TV and Christmas carolers."

Jake pulls out his phone and holds it where Mac can see it, while he scrolls through his extensive family album.

* * *

Using the computer system in the diplomatic residence, it isn't hard for Volkov to access owners of apartments at 429 Broome Street. The names don't mean much to him, but he searches for matching images. He has little luck until the grinning, almost smirking face of Richard Castle fills his screen. There is something familiar around the eyes and the hairline - and that smile. Acid burns Gregor's throat. His search engine reveals over a million references to the popular author, making gathering information child's play. The writer has a wife, who until recently was a detective with the N.Y.P.D., and two daughters, one almost a newborn. Castle is also famously fatherless. It all fits. Hunt took the one that Gregor loved from him; Gregor can take at least three from Hunt. And he won't do it quickly. He'll find a way for Hunt to know that they are to die. The assassin will suffer the agony of helplessness, and Gregor will savor every minute.

The Broome Street building isn't new enough for the plans to be available digitally. No problem. As a student of history, Gregor has always loved the halls where records are preserved. He'll find what he needs to carry out the plan that is even now taking shape in his mind.

* * *

Lanie spent the night at Farley's apartment, where the super-king-sized bed is much more accommodating to his frame. He woke up even earlier than she did, anxious to investigate his first case for OOTC, in tandem with Lisa Anderson. They did get in a little loving before going off in opposite directions to their jobs. Lanie is already looking forward to seeing him again at the end of her shift. An older man is waiting outside the door to her lab. "I'm Jake Lipman. I work for OOTC."

Lanie nods as she unlocks the door. "Right. Kate's mentioned you. She's quite an admirer of your work."

"That's nice to hear. I thought you might be able to help me. I'm trying to find a retired medical examiner by the name of Jacques Dion. I asked Clark Murray, but they're not acquainted. I was wondering if you might know Dion."

Lanie's eyes light up. "I do know Jacques. He was my mentor the first year I started here. He taught me a lot."

"I'm trying to track down two samples he might have preserved. Do you have any idea where I can find him?"

"He moved to Quebec, he has family there, but he left his samples behind. If you tell me what you're looking for, I may be able to find them for you. If they're still around, I'd send them to the CSU lab for you, but Terry's got better equipment."

"So I understand," Jake agrees. "He's done an incredible job for me so far. I'm looking for case # RH- 67318, Neddie Wolper."

That is an old one. Our case numbers have more digits now, for bar-coding. But if the samples you need still exist, I think I know where to find them. Just wait right here," Lanie instructs.

Lanie's often been amazed that the ancient walk-in freezer is still functioning, but she finds one small vial marked RH-67318 on a shelf in the back. One out of two isn't bad. Crossing her fingers, she drops it in an insulated bag with a cold pack, to survive Jake's trip back to Terry.

* * *

With a map of New York city laid out in front of her, Janelle studies the landmarks. Farley was seen near Madison Square Garden where the Knicks play, but that says nothing about where he lives or works. There was another shot taken outside a restaurant. She can't see the name, but there are Chinese letters in the window. Great! There must be hundreds of Chinese restaurants in New York City.

The movie theater with his latest girlfriend narrows it down a little. Then there's the building with 520 on it. Five twenty what? It's frustrating, but she's not going to find Farley just sitting there. She can start by walking around the movie theater and checking things out as she goes. Maybe she'll find the Chinese place or someone will post another picture. She's found Farley before, and she can do it again.

* * *

Celia Davis, the shabby dead woman in the photo that Farley holds, hadn't always been homeless. She'd had an apartment where she lived with her husband, Elliott, and her two small children, Mark and Ellen. She also had a job. But one day, she'd dropped her kids off at pre-school and never shown up for work. Elliott had noticed that she'd become increasingly anxious about things he didn't understand. Celia had also started smoking again, something she'd given up after high school. She'd stuck sticky notes all over the place with phrases that made no sense.

Mark had tried to get her to go see someone, but Celia claimed that she couldn't afford the time. Then that one day she was just gone. He'd called the police, checked the hospitals, had their friends distribute flyers, anything he could do to find her, but she seemed to have vanished from the earth - until the day her body was found stabbed near a dumpster in an alley behind a buffet restaurant. She had only the clothes she was wearing - and no shoes.

The police identified Celia by the fingerprints that had been taken for her job. The alley was considered desirable by the homeless population because the restaurant had to throw out so much food. The detectives who investigated the case figured that she might have been killed for her place there, but they never identified her murderer. Elliott is hoping that OOTC will do what the N.Y.P.D. couldn't. At that particular moment, Lisa and Farley aren't sure how.


	39. Chapter 39

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 39

"I hope you can do something with this," Jake says, handing the insulated bag that Lanie gave him to Terry.

Terry pulls out the vial, studying its contents through the glass. "It looks like there is more than enough tissue here to extract some DNA, but it could take a while. Is there anything else about your case that I can help you with?"

Jake strokes his chin. "I don't think - oh, maybe I should be asking Murray this, but what would make a person smell like gas or a skunk?"

"Other than getting sprayed by one? Natural gas doesn't have an odor. You can smell it because the providers add a little mercaptan as an odorant. It doesn't take much. Humans can detect a couple of molecules. That's what makes the smell a great early warning system. Mercaptans are what skunks put out too, but they're also used in industry. When I was in college, I had a roommate who was interning in a plastics plant. He didn't even contact mercaptans directly, but I could still smell him coming. Why?"

"It's possible that my killer stank like that. Should I be looking for someone who worked in a plastics factory?"

Terry nods thoughtfully. "Until I can get you a match or at least a phenotype, it wouldn't be a bad idea."

* * *

With his jaw clenching, Rick stares at the printout of his email from Black Pawn. Putting it on paper didn't help any. The list of appearances is a lot longer than he'd thought it would be, giving him less time with Kate in Paris. That will mean cutting out some museum trips, and it makes finding the right Callie-pal even more critical. He wants to feel secure in having Kate to himself whenever he can. Rick checks his watch. Paris is six hours ahead of New York; that would make it early evening there. It's a good time to call Gaston and check his progress in getting some topflight references. Better still, he can Skype.

_"Mon ami_, I was just about to call you," Gaston exclaims as his face fills the screen. "I have found the perfect person to help with your daughter. She's been a nanny to the children of one of my wife's best friends, but the family is relocating to Belgium, and she has no wish to go with them. She has lined up another position, but she won't be starting until after you and your family have visited our shores. Taking care of the baby would be the perfect fill-in position for her."

"Does she speak English?" Rick asks.

"_Oui_, Manon was an exchange student in your country."

"She does sound perfect," Rick agrees, "but do you have her resumé? I'm sure Kate would like to do her own vetting."

Gaston chuckles. "As would you. I know you well, Rick. I remember how you checked out the driver your _mére _and Alexis had when they visited the fashion houses. I'll make sure you receive all of Manon's vital details."

* * *

"What if Celia Davis wasn't killed over food?" Lisa wonders out loud.

"What do you mean?" Farley asks.

"The detectives who investigated her case concentrated on the other homeless in the area, but they came up empty, right?" Lisa ponders. "Buffet restaurants fill up a lot of dumpsters, but they're hardly the only ones. The neighborhood where Celia was killed is full of places to eat."

"Most New York neighborhoods are," Farley notes, "except for the food deserts in the most blighted areas. Celia's shoes were missing. But the killer might have done that to throw suspicion on the homeless in the area. So, assuming that the cops on the case were following a false trail, why else would someone kill Celia? She wouldn't have had any money. Her husband Elliot would have been the most likely suspect, spouses usually are, but he had a solid alibi for Celia's time of death. So what does that leave?"

"Maybe she witnessed a crime," Lisa suggests.

"Or tried to prevent one," Farley adds. "We should investigate what else was taking place in the area at the time. You think there are newspaper accounts?"

Lisa's face brightens. "We can find out. OOTC subscribes to just about every archive service there is. I discovered that when I was investigating my father's case. We can split them up. If anything was written about something that might be connected to Celia's death, we'll dig it up."

* * *

Jake is surprised to find a company making plastics, right in Manhattan. He hadn't expected that kind of manufacturing in the heart of the city. There's one in Brooklyn and one in Queens too. If none of those pans out, he can start thinking about New Jersey, where the chemical industry is huge, but he hopes he won't have to. The Garden State would be one hell of a haystack.

The entry on Hendriks plastics that Jake finds in a business directory claims that the company has been operating on Canal Street since the early 1900s when the first plastic was invented. That would more than cover the period when both Neddie Wolper and Lillian Price were raped and murdered. The question is, how far back do their employee records go and can Jake get access to any that might be relevant. If he were still a cop, he could get a court order to get his hands on personnel files, but not as a private citizen. With Neddie and Lillian still officially open cases, the N.Y.P.D. should be willing to lend a hand in approaching a judge - especially if OOTC lets them share credit for closing at least two murders. From what Jake's seen so far, Montgomery excels at that kind of gentle arm twisting. It's worth a shot.

* * *

Reading over Rick's shoulder, Kate scans the information on his computer screen. "Manon Clary. Is she your Callie-pal candidate?"

"She is," Rick confirms. "She's a graduate of the Paris Institute of Childcare Training, and she has excellent references. I'm going to check them, of course, but she looks good." A growl echoes through the loft. "Wow, sounds like something doesn't look good - or smell right - to our faithful family guardian."

Kate is already striding toward the front door where the dog is pawing at the wood, and Rick is not far behind her. Rick strokes the fur on the top of the canine's head. "Someone lurking out there, Custos?"

The canine barks and growls again. "What are you doing?" Rick asks as Kate heads back to Rick's office.

"I'm going to get my weapon out of the safe. Custos doesn't act like that when a neighbor just strolls by our door. I need to check it out. Can you stay in with Callie?"

"All right," Rick agrees reluctantly, but take Custos with you. If he smelled someone, he'll know who it was and where they went."

The dog charges out the door as soon as Kate opens it and spins, jumping up on the frame, barking. "Babe, I need a flashlight," Kate calls to Rick.

Rick grabs a Mag-Lite from the utility drawer in the kitchen and brings it to her.

Kate's carefully directed bean reveals a tiny reflection as it hits the lens of an almost invisible camera. "Custos was right. Someone was here."

"And not to sell Girl Scout cookies," Rick adds grimly.


	40. Chapter 40

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 40

Handing back the Mag-Lite, Kate raises her weapon. "I should take Custos and go after him."

"No way!" Rick insists. "not without backup, and I'm sure as hell not going to bring Callie along. Whoever planted the camera is a professional, Kate. He could be armed or have backup of his own. We call the 12th. He's already gone. If he left a trail, Custos can follow it when the cops get here."

Flanked by L.T. and Officer Velasquez, Kate lets Custos lead her to the only empty spot at the curb, at a fire hydrant, where the dog barks and growls loudly. "If someone parked here, it should have been caught on a traffic cam."

"But that footage isn't scrubbed right away unless the city is looking for something more serious than a parking violation," L.T. points out. "If someone gets a ticket, it may not be for a month."

"I can scrub it myself," Kate declares, "it's only one camera."

L.T. and Velasquez exchange glances before L.T. clears his throat. "That's above our pay grade. You need to talk to Captain Gates."

"I'm sure she'll be willing to cooperate," Kate declares.

* * *

Victoria Gates throws her reading glasses on a stack of papers on her desk as the words of Mayor Weldon assault her ear.

"Yes, Sir, I realize that Out of the Cold has been immensely useful in helping the N.Y.P.D. close cases and that both Kate and Rick Beckett-Castle have brought good press to the N.Y.P.D. I've been very patient with allowing Out of the Cold personnel access to our case files, but letting a civilian scrub traffic cam footage is over the top. The comings and goings of the citizens of this city are not intended to be public knowledge. Yes, Sir, I'm very aware that in the past, during emergencies, we have enlisted civilians to help spot suspects on video, but those were cases of serial killers and mass shootings. Planting a camera outside the door of a celebrity - a minor celebrity - hardly rises to the level of a crime, let alone an emergency. Yes, I'm aware of the bad P.R. it would bring to the department if harm were to befall the Beckett-Castle family because the N.Y.P.D. failed to act. I can assign one of my detectives to look at the video. Yes, right now. And if anything shows up, we'll give the Beckett-Castles a full report." Tossing the phone aside, Gates stomps to the doorway of her office. "Ryan!"

* * *

"_Dermo_!" Volkov snarls, pacing the plush carpet in the Diplomatic Residence. The feed from the camera he planted ceased transmitting almost immediately, after picking up a dog, a few frames of Hunt's daughter-in-law, and a beam of light. He'd intended to record the comings and goings through the door, to work out his best plan of attack, but now the residents of the loft have been alerted. He could still go after the redhead he saw kissing Hunt, but now that he knows that the assassin has family, it wouldn't be enough, not nearly enough. He needs another plan. Perhaps the time for subtlety is at an end."

* * *

"Are you finding anything?" Lisa queries, as she gazes across the table at OOTC where she and Farley are staring at the screens on laptops. They're both searching for relevant events around the time and place where Celia Davis was killed.

Farley drums his fingers on the wooden surface. "I think I might have. There was a three-year-old little girl, Christina Logan, who disappeared the day before Celia's body was found. She was with her mother at a boutique called Creative Couture, near the Golden Buffet. According to this account, Christina wandered off while her mother was trying something on. Apparently, someone grabbed her. The Logan family received a demand for a ransom, which they paid. Shortly afterward, Christina was released in a pocket park near the Logan home.

"Was Christina able to tell the police anything about her kidnappers?"

Farley shrugs. "Not much. The reporter who wrote this piece quoted her as mentioning a bad witch hurting a fairy godmother. You know, that might make some sense. One of the things I did while I was playing was go read to kids at the library. A lot of the guys did. The idea was to show them that if athletes were interested in books, they should be too. There was a story where an evil witch kidnaps some children. It had a fairy godmother in it, disguised in shabby clothes so she could blend in with the villagers to capture the witch. If someone read that story to Christina, and Celia tried to interfere when she was snatched, the girl might have thought she was the fairy godmother."

"That tracks," Lisa agrees. "If Christina was three then, she'd be about twelve now. I wonder if she'd remember the story. And if she doesn't, someone who knew her when she was little, might."

Farley stretches out of his chair. "Looks like we have some interviews to do."

* * *

Even in the parking lot of Hendrik's plastics, Jake can detect a pungent odor. He couldn't imagine how the workers there would put up with it, except that Terry mentioned something about olfactory exhaustion. After you're around some smells long enough, your nervous system stops acknowledging them. Terry's roommate couldn't tell when he reeked.

The receptionist at the desk in the anteroom gives Jake a look like his wife reserved for door-to-door salesmen who called during dinner, but softens after Jake makes it clear that he isn't hawking anything. She invites him to sit in one of the plastic chairs that Jake suspects may be a Hendriks product, while she pages a manager.

For twenty minutes, Jake flips through a trade magazine extolling the virtues of the newest pigments and additives for injection molding until a five foot one man in a company shirt, athletic shoes and gray hair that looks like it might have been combed in a wind tunnel emerges from a door behind the receptionist. "I'm Gabe Carter. I manage the day shift." He inclines his head toward the receptionist. "Mitzi said something about a murder investigation."

"That's right," Jake confirms, extending his hand. "I'm Jake Lipman, and I work for Out of the Cold. I'm trying to solve murders that occurred about 30 years ago, and I have reason to believe that the killer might have worked in a plastics factory in or around the city. I was wondering if you might be able to help me."

Gabe rakes his fingers through his hair, disheveling it even more. "Thirty years ago, I was just starting out on the line. I believe, other than some absent execs from Hendriks family, I'm the only one left in the company from those days. If you're looking for someone who worked here then, he wouldn't be around now."

Jake shakes his head. "I wouldn't have expected otherwise. I'm just looking for a lead. The man was described as tall."

Gabe slaps Jake on the shoulder. "Then I guess that leaves me out. Anything else?"

"He might have hung around the women, particularly older women," Jake speculates. "Or he might have hated older women completely. Our profile says he could have gone either way."

"Hated older women," Gabe repeats. "I might have a guess for you - and this is only a guess. Thirty years ago, old lady Hendriks had an office here. She learned the business from her father, who founded the place. She never had a husband or kids. The plant was her baby, and everything had to be her way. That wasn't bad, she knew what she was doing, but there was a guy named Ace who couldn't take being bossed around by a woman. He was always mouthing off - not to her face - but always complaining that women should stay home and let men handle the work. One day he was blamed for messing up a batch of plastic. I don't know if he did it or not, but we had rejects out the wazoo. Ms. Hendriks called him into her office, and the next thing we knew, he was cursing her out across the shop floor on his way out of here. We never saw him again - and we could have from across the parking lot. He was six foot six if he was an inch."

"Do you remember Ace's real name?" Jake asks.

"Not his first name, but I remember his last. It was Mulligan. That stuck because I recall thinking that he believed he deserved a do-over."

You wouldn't have any records on this Mulligan, would you?" Jake inquires hopefully.

Gabe shakes his head. "Sorry, Buddy. After seven years we ship our records off to a warehouse, and the one holding the boxes from thirty years ago burned down in 2005. But how many six foot six guys named Mulligan, could there be?"

Jake wonders about that himself.

A/N I've posted a new chapter of my The Rookie story, "The Way Back."


	41. Chapter 41

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 41

"Ryan, are you kidding me?" Kate exclaims, her fingernails digging into her palms.

The voice coming from the speaker of her phone sounds apologetic but firm. "Sorry, Beckett. That's what's on the footage. The car that was parked in the space your pooch found had diplomatic plates. We know where it came from - the Russian Diplomatic Residence. But there's not a damn thing we can do about it."

"But there's something we can do," Rick interrupts. "We'll take it from here, Ryan."

"Yeah, well good luck. Gates wants me off this - yesterday."

Kate turns to Rick as a beep sounds, ending the call. "What are you thinking, Babe?"

"I'm thinking that there are two possibilities. One is that the nest of Russians that you and Murphy broke up in Brighton Beach has reconstituted somehow, but I don't see Murphy letting that happen. The other one is worse: my father was right about having to keep his distance for our safety, and whoever might be after him, traced him to our doorstep."

"Maybe you should get in touch with him to find out," Kate suggests.

Rick shakes his head. "I don't know how. But I can try to reach someone who does. And shouldn't you call Murphy?"

"Uh huh," Kate agrees. "If Russians are planting cameras, the FBI would want to know about it."

* * *

On a break, Janelle checks her phone for any new postings of Farley Kutcher sightings. Her new job isn't much - just making and wrapping sandwiches, but it's enough to keep her going, and with the hours she's scheduled, she'll still have time to find Farley. There's a new image up. Farley's with another bitch - a white one. They're going into a building. The picture shows part of the sign above the entrance: "t of the Co." What the hell is that? Janelle brings up Google on her phone and searches for the phrase. There are tons of hits; too many to check in the two minutes she has left, but she'll have time when she's done with her shift. She's getting closer, she can feel it.

* * *

Mona Getz has been a children's librarian for going on 20 years. She knows every book that a child might enjoy and barely has to look at the words when reading them to the little ones that assemble on the brightly colored carpet at her feet every Saturday morning and Thursday afternoon.

"I know the book you're referring to," she tells Farley, "and I do remember Christina. Her kidnapping caused quite a panic among the parents around here. A lot of them started wondering if they should bring their children. And when they did," Mona makes a whirling motion above her head, "whup-whup-whup. Normally they would have gone off to other parts of the library while I was reading to the kids, but they just hovered. I barely had room for them. That went on for the better part of a year."

"So it's possible that Christina might have been confusing a homeless woman with a fairy godmother?" Lisa asks.

"More than possible," Mona confirms. "She loved that story. She liked to look at the book and trace her little fingers over the pictures when I was finished reading it to her."

"One more thing, did you ever see a woman hanging around watching the children, particularly Christina?" Farley asks.

"Maybe someone who looked like the evil witch in the story?" Lisa adds.

Mona shrugs, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember. I pay more attention to the children than I do to the adults. But you might check with Jimmy, our custodian. He's been here for 20 years. He doesn't talk very well, so people underestimate him, but he notices everything. Whenever a child loses a toy or even a tiny charm from a bracelet, he's always able to find it. This time of day he's usually dusting in the stacks - nonfiction section."

Jimmy is wearing a blue coverall with his name embroidered on the pocket, making him easy for Lisa and Farley to spot. While a speech impediment makes him difficult to understand, his eyes are bright with comprehension. He nods at Lisa's suggestion of a woman hanging around the library. "She was here. Not reading. Watching children. Watching parents."

"Can you describe her?" Farley asks.

"Black hair. Green eyes. Draw you a picture." Jimmy pulls a notebook and a mechanical pencil out of a voluminous pocket and sketches rapidly. He tears off the sheet of paper and hands it to Lisa. "That's her."

Farley gazes at the drawing Lisa holds. "Thanks, Jimmy. You may just have helped us solve a kidnapping and a murder."

* * *

Murphy strokes the rim of the Fedora sitting on his desk. "No Kate, Russian mob activity is not starting up again in Brooklyn. We're looking at some money laundering operations, through a foreign bank with offices in midtown, but there's no connection to the diplomatic mission. If anything this group is trying to cover its affiliations with the Kremlin. And I can't imagine why they would be monitoring you or your family. If they were going to eavesdrop on anyone, it would be the investigators working for the Southern District."

Kate raps her fingernails on the surface of the counter where she's been digging into her special reserve of dark chocolate coated shortbread cookies. "That's what I thought, Murphy. Rick's looking into this from a different angle, but can you let me know if you hear anything?"

"After the director, you'll be my first contact," the agent assures her.

* * *

"Rick, I didn't expect to hear from you again," Sophia Turner responds to his call. "Didn't you get your meeting with Daddy Dearest?"

"Oh, I got it all right, but maybe I shouldn't have. A Russian may have trailed him to my loft - a Russian with diplomatic plates. I know one planted a camera over my front door."

"Not usual diplomatic procedure," Sophia comments.

"More like a member of your club," Rick retorts. "So who's in town, Sophia? Who might be after my father, me, or my family?"

"Honestly, Rick, I don't know. We haven't tracked any new Russian operations to New York. But your father has enemies - deadly ones. He tried to make that clear to you. Now that you've been tagged, you'd better watch that beautiful ass of yours. I was rather fond of it."

"My wife is rather fond of it too. We'll take precautions. But you'll alert me if you hear anything, and let my father know too?"

"If I can, Rick. Just be careful."

Rick brings his fist down on his desk, rattling the pens in his "World's Greatest Dad," mug. Right, the dad who puts targets on his family's backs. The old man warned him, and he didn't listen, and now the family legacy has descended like a lead mantle on his shoulders. Damn! He wishes he, Kate and the girls - and maybe mother too, could take off for France now, but Alexis isn't out of school and mother's finishing up a run.

There's no guaranteeing that whoever is out there wouldn't follow them across the ocean anyway. Well, there are other measures he can take. Gaston is far from the only consultant he's ever used for Derrick Storm - or Nikki Heat. He's talked to some heavy hitters over the years, and he can speak to at least one of them now.


	42. Chapter 42

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 42

It's been a while, years in fact since Keith Proctor heard from Rick Castle. As the author had promised, Keith has never seen himself in any of Castle's characters - at least not directly. A six foot four café au lait detective with blue eyes and a natural reddish cast to his hair would have been easy to identify. Keith's appearance had been a drawback in his profession. It was difficult to go unnoticed while pursuing an investigation.

Given that situation, he'd decided to make a weakness, a strength, specializing in security. He learned and employs all the technology behind the scenes, but is also an imposing out-front presence. Very few dare to mess with celebrities and political figures he guards. When Rick calls, Keith's just finished a world tour with the latest movie heartthrob, who also doubles as eyes and ears for a lesser-known intelligence agency.

Proctor expects Rick's usual playful banter, but the author sounds ominously serious. "I need your help, Keith."

"What's the threat, Rick?"

"That's just it. I don't know what - or rather who, except that it seems to be coming from someone associated with Russia. Look, it's a long story. Any chance you can meet me at my loft today, the sooner, the better?"

"I'll be there in a half-hour."

* * *

Janelle scrolls through her hits for "t of the Cold." Who would have thought there would be so many spy stories and articles about Antarctic explorers online. She can't even begin to understand the listings referring to thermodynamics. She's not interested in cold tablets either. Adding "New York" as a keyword narrows her search down a lot, and brings up an image that matches the photo posted of Farley. Some kind of private investigators? OK, that makes sense. Farley was a cop. Sometimes cops become private investigators. Janelle's seen that on TV. So maybe the white woman works with him, and he's still dating the chocolate one with the big boobs. At least now Janelle has a way to find out. She isn't back on shift at work until tomorrow afternoon. She can find a spot to watch Out of the Cold in the morning and see if Farley shows up.

* * *

After making sure Custos knows that Keith Proctor is welcome in the Beckett-Castle home, Rick ushers his old friend inside. Kate is waiting at the table, with Callie enjoying the motion of an infant swing set up a few feet away. Rick makes quick introductions before telling Keith as much of the story as he can.

"The camera, do you have it?" Keith asks.

"It's at "Out of the Cold," Kate explains. "I asked our forensics department to trace it, but there were no serial numbers or distinguishing marks."

"You have a picture?" Keith queries.

"I took a few after Kate dug it out," Castle replies, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans.

Keith swipes through the images on the screen. "I've seen this type before. The KSB plants them in all the major hotels in Moscow to gather kompromat on unwary visitors - primarily sexual escapades of one sort or another. They keep a stable of attractive operatives - male and female - that double as prostitutes. I've had to warn some of my clients against engaging. These gizmos don't need much of a power source. They are activated by motion, and they broadcast in a burst when triggered. Whoever triggered it would have to be pretty close."

Kate nods. "We believe whoever it was parked right outside. Black sedan - diplomatic plates from the Russian Diplomatic Residence."

"Then we need a two-pronged plan," Keith proposes. "I'll put people on this building to watch for intrusions. We'll also stake out the residence and identify whoever comes and goes. We'll put a tail on anyone who heads this way. If someone is after you, we'll make sure they don't get close."

Rick reaches out to clasp Keith's meaty arm. "Thanks, man, I really appreciate it."

Keith winks at Kate. "You might want to have a sedative ready when he gets my bill."

* * *

Hunt studies the images on a scanner that's the newest invention of the Skip Works. It's intended for long-range targeting, using artificial intelligence to enhance images. From the upper floor of a building almost a mile away from the residence, he's using it to track who enters and leaves the Russian's diplomatic nest. So far it's been mostly minor operatives and even a few genuine diplomats, but his gut twists as he recognizes an all too familiar face. Volkov! Damn! He was supposed to be in prison in Chechnya. Hunt shakes his head. He should have known that hole could never hold his opposite number. He and Gregor had sparred on opposite sides for years. Hunt had never intended to kill Anna; Gregor had been his target. But that didn't matter. Volkov swore revenge and Hunt hadn't a moment's doubt that the Russian meant what he said. Gregor has also done enough favors for Putin and his oligarch pals to get whatever support he needs from the Kremlin, obviously, that includes diplomatic credentials.

At least now Hunt knows who he's up against. Unfortunately, he can't just take Volkov out. With Gregor's current standing, that would cause an international incident. But if Putin's pet makes a move toward Richard and his family - any justification at all for action, Hunt will take his opening to send Gregor Volkov to hell.

* * *

Farley has become familiar enough with the area around the building at 520 First Avenue which houses Lanie's lab that he pulls into park almost without thinking about it. She'd asked him to pick her up at seven, which would give her time to clean up and change after finishing her last autopsy.

After spending much of the day waiting for the complicated algorithm the computer at OOTC is running to try to find a match to Jimmy's sketch, he was relieved to let the software chug along on its own. The computer will signal his and Lisa's phones if it comes up with an ID, and they can pursue it in the morning.

Tonight is Farley's time with Lanie. She'd told him that she has something special in mind, but wouldn't tell him what. As a player and a cop, he'd tried to avoid surprises, but he's looking forward to one from her.

Farley's never seen a basketball jersey filled out quite as well as Lanie does it, but he didn't think she played anymore. "Are we going to a game?"

"You'll see," Lanie teases. "Just drive. I'll tell you where to go."

Farley is surprised when the route Lanie directs him to take leads to Harlem. She instructs him to stop at a small theater he had no idea was there. "Hello, darlings," an ebullient redheaded woman that Lanie introduces as Martha Rodgers greets them at the door. You'll be the perfect additions to the audience tonight."

"What's going on?" Farley wonders.

Martha glances at Lanie. "You didn't tell him?"

"I thought I'd let you explain," the M.E. replies.

Martha draws herself up. "You are about to become part of an interactive experience organized by some of my exceptional students. They've been working with some of the most promising young basketball players in this neighborhood to help them share their stories. I'd put you in the front row but, well, no one would be able to…"

"See over me," Farley finishes. "It's been that way since I was in ninth grade. I'm used to it."

"I'll seat you on an aisle where you'll have room for your legs," Martha assures him. "And let the show begin!"


	43. Chapter 43

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 43

Yuri rubs the sleep out of his eyes when Gregor calls. _Pizdets!_ It may be early evening in New York, but it's the middle of the night in Moscow.

Volkov doesn't waste any words on apologies. "I need a pipe inspection crawler sent to me immediately."

Yuri shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Have you taken up a new profession? You're working in the oilfields now?"

"Yuri, I am what I have always been, and you'd best remember it," Volkov warns. "All you need to know is that I want it on the next plane to New York by diplomatic pouch. I'll retrieve it from the airport."

"Yes, Sir," Yuri agrees. "I'll do what I can."

"You'll do what I tell you," Volkov corrects and ends the call.

* * *

Lanie snuggles into Farley's arm. "When you caught the ball and dribbled down the aisle to pass it back to the kids, that was amazing. I think some of the audience was taking pictures."

"I learned a lot about what's needed for the programs up here," Farley confesses. "I'm going to volunteer."

"That's great," Lanie responds, "But I hope you'll still have time for me."

Farley draws her close. "I can't think of anyone in the world I'd rather have time for. Do you need to go back to your lab to pick up anything?"

"The last thing I want tonight is to go near something dead." Lanie wraps her arm around his hips, just as another theatergoer captures the image on a cellphone.

* * *

When the alert on Farley's phone goes off at 5 a.m., he and Lanie both are jarred awake. Reaching to get his cell from the nightstand, he gazes at the screen. "The computer came up with a match to the sketch of my suspect in the Celia Davis murder." He quickly thumbs a text. "I need to meet Lisa at the office so we can track her down."

Lanie strokes a finger over his bare bicep. "I doubt that your evil witch is going to mount her broom this early in the morning. You could grab some coffee or one of those health muffins I saw in your kitchen before you go."

Farley shakes his head. "We have stuff in the break room at OOTC. Rick makes sure the place is stocked. Anyway, if Lisa and I can get a home address on the woman, we may be able to catch her before she takes off for the day. But see you tonight?"

Lanie tilts her face up for a kiss. "I'll be counting the minutes."

* * *

Grimacing at the bitterness of the day-old mug of coffee he'd heated up in the microwave before settling in at his desk, Jake scans through his list of Mulligans. He'd been hoping to find a DMV listing so that he could get an age and a height - but no such luck. The suspect may have given up driving or never learned. A lot of people around the city don't bother. With traffic and the cost of parking, it's easier and cheaper to take the subway or catch a cab.

So now, he'll have to go through his possible suspects one by one, examining images and scrolling through social media accounts. He doesn't really mind. Record searches, even the ones through paper files, have always been his bread and butter - at least as important as talking to witnesses with faulty vision and even faultier recall. He rotates his shoulders and stretches his fingers above his keyboard. Unless he gets very lucky, it's going to be a long day, but he can feel himself closing in on his target.

* * *

Lisa jabs her finger at the image that comes up on a LinkedIn profile for a Barbara Stratton. "That's got to be her! It's graying a little now but black hair. And she has green eyes. Oh, God, Farley! She owns a kids' clothing boutique! She may still be hunting for victims."

Farley rushes around the table to his own computer to find the website for Kids' Kouture. "It's on Broadway at 77th Street. The place doesn't open until 10. If we don't hit too much traffic, we can beat her there."

* * *

As she's inserting her key, Barbara Stratton catches sight of her reflection in the glass door of her store. She looks pretty good, but she could look better. She'd considered having the beauty shop cover the streaks of gray in her hair, but she does a lot of business with grandmothers, and the obvious sign of age helps her relate. The rest of her is another matter. She just had her breasts lifted back to youthful perkiness. She's always subtle. Last year she had a tummy tuck and before that, a blepharoplasty to get rid of the bags under her eyes. She thinks she might have one of those freeze treatments to slim her thighs and in another month she'll need more Botox. As usual, the boutique is just on the edge of breaking even, and the cost of her treatments adds up. It might be time to grab another kid soon.

Sometimes she can't believe how easy it is. Parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents come in. She asks them about their children, using the excuse of helping them pick out things that will match the children's personalities. The floodgates open about every detail of the little darlings' lives, along with proud displays of picture after picture on cell phones. All Barb has to do is choose the easiest victims to take. She knows where they'll be and how they behave.

She's become adept at sizing up income levels too. If they didn't have money to start with, they'd be shopping at a big box store, not her place, but over the years she's perfected her ability to estimate just how much she can ask for to get her money fast and without too much fuss. She's more than happy to let the brats go, she doesn't want them around, and she doesn't want the heat that hurting them would bring.

That homeless woman was her only problem. Who would have thought that someone like that would fight so hard to protect a child? It was a good thing that Barb had her knife – a gift from her father and sharp as hell. He used one like it for skinning the animals he shot. Barb doesn't eat meat. She's sure her complexion looks healthier on a vegan diet. But Daddy's knife still occasionally comes in handy for opening boxes. It just took her a while to make sure she cleaned all the blood off of it.

Lisa and Farley watch from an outdoor table of a coffee shop two doors down from Kids' Kouture. Barbara Stratton is taking long enough to unlock her door. To Lisa, the suspect seems more interested in admiring her image than opening her business. Narcissistic. Fine, she and Farley can use that when they engage her. A person with that kind of vanity should be more than happy to talk about herself. That will give them a chance to size her up and decide if they've wandered down the wrong trail.

Lisa's tasted better lattes. She's had them at Out of the Cold, with a little help from Richard Castle. That man makes the best coffee. She ought to get him to teach Eric sometime. Maybe she can coax her husband into leaving work early enough to join a poker game. While they're there, she can get the recipe for Rick's dip, too. She forgot to ask for it last time. She takes the last sip from her cup and nods at Farley. Time to go to work.


	44. Chapter 44

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 44

When the bell over her door tinkles, Barbara Stratton immediately surveys the couple entering her boutique. If these two become grandparents, it won't be for at least a decade or two. They could be married. She's wearing a wedding ring, but he isn't, uncommon but not unknown these days. But they don't have the harried, slightly exhausted look that usually shouts parents of young children - even many with nannies. She smiles a greeting as they approach her post behind a colorful display of high-end toddler sportswear. "Can I help you find something?"

"I hope so," Lisa answers, gazing lovingly up at Farley. "My husband is becoming involved in a project to bring basketball to underprivileged kids - the little ones just starting out - 3-year-olds who drop the ball in a little plastic hoop. Most of them just have t-shirts and shorts - whatever their families can find at the dollar store or the Good Will." Lisa indicates the display. "We have a niece who visited them wearing a tiny jersey like these. The other little ones pointed at the number on it and seemed to like it. We thought it would be nice if those poor children, there are 20 of them, could have jerseys too, you know, so they'd feel better about themselves."

"Would you want them all to match?" Barbara asks, mentally toting up a sizable sale.

"It would build group unity," Farley responds.

"Of course," Barbara agrees. "I'll have to special order them, but I have a wonderful connection in the garment district that can turn them out quickly - in a day or two with an upcharge."

"The money isn't important," Farley assures her. "It's all about the kids." He pulls a money clip holding a wad of bills from his pocket. I would be happy to give you a deposit or whatever you need."

Barbara takes care not to smile too broadly. "That would be helpful, Mr..."

"Cooper," Farley fills in. "Brett Cooper. Would three hundred dollars be enough to get you started?"

"Just fine," Barbara replies, taking the cash. "And how can I reach you, Mr. Cooper?"

Farley passes her a card. "Just call this number."

Lisa intertwines her fingers with his. "Babe, if we're going to make it to Zabar's to pick up the babka my mother likes before they run out, we'd better hurry." She glances back at Barbara. "It's only a three block walk from here, but," she rolls her eyes, "the line."

"I know," Barbara agrees. "I go there for the smoked fish salad. They're the only ones in the city that have it. Well, you two have a great day, and I'll be in touch."

"Brett Cooper, is that an identity OOTC created for you?" Lisa inquires as, in case Barbara is watching, she and Farley stroll up Broadway in the direction of 80th Street and the famous delicatessen.

"No, I've had that one for a long time. When the team traveled, we used aliases to avoid unwanted intrusions - most of them, anyway. That number will forward to my cell phone, and I'll know who it is even if our jersey seller blocks her ID. And if she runs a check on Cooper, which she wouldn't need to do for a cash transaction, I'll be alerted. It's easy for me to go with our cover story. I am going to get involved in working with some kids. Did you see the look on her face when I pulled out those bills? I've seen fans watching winning plays with less excitement."

"Yeah, I think she may have to change her panties." Lisa speculates. "It sounds like we'll know if she takes the bait pretty soon. Do you want to keep going to Zabar's? They're supposed to have great coffee beans. You could get some for your girlfriend."

"Lanie doesn't drink coffee, but she'd kill for some of their halvah."

* * *

"What are you making guacamole for?" Kate wonders as Rick adds the finishing touches to his spicy green concoction. "I thought you canceled the poker game."

"I did," Rick confirms. "Having people coming in and out of here would just complicate things for the operatives Proctor has watching the place. But I bought the avocados hard, a few days ago, so they'd be just ripe enough for tonight, and if they sit around, they'll get all brown and icky."

"So now that you've made it, what are you going to do with it?"

Given that we will be unable to ply our skills with the cards against not-so-worthy opponents, I thought we might engage in another distraction."

"With guacamole? That's kinky, even for you, Babe. Are you sure you don't want to go with whipped cream?"

"Maybe that too, later, but I found something we can do during Callie's waking hours. A friend of mine found this at a kitsch con," Rick explains, passing Kate a DVD."

"Temptation Zane?"

"Um, hmm. It's a satire of your favorite guilty pleasure, with a little more oomph than they can show on broadcast TV."

"And by oomph you mean porn?"

"Not exactly, although between consenting adults, there would be nothing wrong with that."

Kate bumps him with her hip. "I'm not sure that the term 'adult' is entirely applicable to you right now, but if not porn, what is it?"

"Alternative casting. It's funny, Kate. You'll love it!"

Still giggling, Kate dries her tears on her sleeve. "That guy did look a bit like Lance Hastings - with more hair."

"You'll get that when you cast an orangutan," Castle notes. "The fellow did have quite the acting range, and the chimp who played the gigolo wasn't bad either. I thought the one who played the Fox family matriarch was a bit over the top, but that will happen swinging from a chandelier." He gazes at their empty bowl. "We did consume all the guacamole, so mission accomplished."

Kate flutters her still damp lashes. "And after we get Callie put down for the night, we can start on our next one."

Rick grins. "I'll bring the whipped cream."

* * *

Jake regards his computer screen in triumph. As he expected, it's been a long day, but it looks like he's found the right Mulligan. After 30 years it appears that his suspect has shrunk an inch. Then Jake isn't as tall as he was 30 years ago either. But Cyril Mulligan is still an imposing figure. His biography states that he started out in the plastics industry with a successful tenure at Hendriks - a bit of embroidery if Mac was to be believed. It has him going on to start his own business - understandable with the kind of reference he would have received from Hendriks. According to the flattering narrative, using his height to his advantage, Mulligan became a window washer. He was so successful at removing city grime that he took on several associates. A fall from a scaffold limited his use of a bucket and squeegee, but he continued managing operations. According to the listing in the directory, Mulligan's Window Cleaning Services now serves all five boroughs, making residential and commercial glass sparkle. Jake wonders if Kate would like to get the windows on the OOTC building cleaned. Perhaps Mulligan himself can be lured in with the promise of a lucrative contract. Jake whistles his way to the breakroom. After he makes himself a sandwich from the stock of cold cuts in the refrigerator, he'll send her an email. No point in disturbing whatever peace she can get at home. He knows from experience that parents of infants get little enough of it.


	45. Chapter 45

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 45

Lanie rolls almondy sweetness over her tongue. "If you take more cases that put you near Zabar's, I won't mind at all."

"Even if I have to pretend to be married to Lisa?"

"As long as you keep your act G-rated. Maybe we should go out with her and her husband. I'd like to meet him, and it would keep the couples straight."

"Lisa was going to bring Eric to a poker game, but Rick had to cancel it. Kate didn't say much about why, but it sounded serious."

Lanie drops a piece of halvah back on her plate. "I hope my god baby isn't sick - but I think Kate would call me if she were."

"I don't think it's anything like that," Farley offers. "She said something about a security issue."

"With Custos around, it'd have to be a pretty big one. Those two have always been trouble magnets, but without each other, they'd probably both be dead by now. You know Rick took a bullet meant for Kate?"

"I didn't, but I can see that their relationship is amazing." Farley cups Lanie's face in his broad palm. "I believed I'd never find anyone I could look at the way Rick looks at Kate, but I think that now I have."

Lanie stretches up to meet his lips with her own. "I think we both have."

* * *

Rick hands Kate a mug of morning coffee as she studies her emails. "What are you pondering?"

"This is from Jake. He wants OOTC to hire the window washing company owned by the suspect in the murders he's investigating. He thinks if we can get a Cyril Mulligan to sit down to negotiate a contract, we can snag some of his DNA to compare with a sample Terry has."

"I can't say I like the idea of inviting a potential murderer into your office."

"I don't either," Kate agrees, "but I can't think of a better one. Callie can stay with you. I'll keep my weapon handy, and I'll have Roy to back me up."

Rick shakes his head. "I still don't like it. Can I at least get some of Keith Proctor's operatives to go with you? You might already have a target on your back as is."

"If it will make you feel better."

"Nothing is going to make me feel better until we get the bastard who planted that camera at our door, but I'll do the best I can to make sure you're protected. I'll call Proctor right now."

* * *

The crate for the pipe crawler isn't as large as Volkov had expected it to be. He barely needs the help of his driver to stow it in the van that was part of the Diplomatic Residence fleet. Good. Once he has it unpacked, he'll be able to transport it on his own.

Gregor's been working on his plan ever since before he talked to Yuri. The discovery of his camera made it clear to him that he won't be able to get close to the Castle loft. Very well. He won't have to.

Large water and gas pipes run under the street in front of the building. He's already located an access point blocks away where he can launch his robot. The tracking system designed to detect and report potential leaks will allow him to know precisely where the crawler is, and when the time comes, detonate the payload he'll put on board.

His explosives are compact, the newest generation, but powerful enough. No matter what pipe Gregor sends his deadly device through, he'll be setting off a secondary gas explosion, that should take out not only the building housing Hunt's family but also structures on both sides of it. The conflagration will also destroy his mechanism and cover Gregor's tracks. It will be glorious, and The "tragic accident" will be captured on every American phone nearby, even before the news media pick it up. Wherever Hunt is, whatever he is doing, he will suffer the anguish that Gregor feels every moment of his life.

Gregor will have to construct his device with care. His detonation signal can't impinge on the telemetry from the crawler, but he is up to the task. He's been preparing for it since the moment Anna died at Hunt's hands.

"What the hell?" Hunt exclaims, watching Volkov cart a crate into the residence. If there's a weapon in there, it's a big one. He focuses in on the words on the wood. They're in Russian, of course, but he isn't that rusty yet. "Diplomatic pouch," is clear enough, and what looks like a serial or model number: труб – 1044. Some analyst better be able to trace that down.

* * *

Janelle is frustrated. She's gone to OOTC after she's gotten off work for two days in a row, crouching in the shrubbery near the parking lot to try to spot Farley, but she hasn't seen him. Maybe her timing's been all wrong, but Janelle's off for the whole day, today. She'll take food and something to pee in with her. She can watch Out of the Cold as long as she needs to, and when she finally gets to speak to Farley, she'll make him understand what a mistake he made trying to keep her away.

* * *

Kate wasn't expecting to get a meeting with Cyril Mulligan so quickly, but she sets it for 3 p.m. Proctor will have two of his people ready to accompany her, but that doesn't keep Rick from pacing the floor of the loft until she's ready to leave. Sensing the unease, Custos alternately rubs up against both of them, in-between checking on Callie in her swing. Rick wishes the dog had a twin he could send with Kate, but human protection will have to be enough.

While Proctor bodyguard Mick Tunney accompanies Kate inside the OOTC building, Proctor operative Paula Stabler checks around outside, noting a young African-American woman doing a poor job concealing herself behind some bushes while crunching on chips and drinking from a can of soda. It's Paula's job to determine if there's a threat to Kate, and the covert snacker doesn't appear to pose one, but Paula snaps a picture on her phone. She'll report the lurker when she gets inside.

Kate studies the image on Paula's cell. "I don't recognize her - wait - one of our guys, Farley Kutcher, had a stalker. I should send the picture to him and see if he recognizes her." Kate checks her watch. "Cyril Mulligan should be showing up any time now. My husband is nervous about this, but if Mulligan is a murderer, I don't believe I'd be his target for about 20 years. I don't want to spook him. There's a security camera in my office, and you can join our operative Jake Lipman in the next room to watch the feed." Kate hears a buzz from the reception desk. "That should be him now. I'll have Laura show him in when you're set up."

Other than his height, Cyril Mulligan doesn't look menacing. What's left of his hair is a dull gray, and he walks with a pronounced limp. Still, there is something about the way he looked at Laura and the way he's looking at Kate - a disgust like most people reserve for roaches and other vermin. The man doesn't like women. He does, however, accept Kate's offer of coffee. Terry should have a DNA sample soon enough.


	46. Chapter 46

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 46

"You're early," Lanie notes when Farley shows up at her lab.

He grins down at her. "I won't have any business to do on my case until I hear from Barbara Stratton and I wanted to see you. Also, I wanted to tell you that I talked to Lisa, and she's going to try to get her husband to double with us. She suggested that if we want to drag him away from his work for a while, we should pick a Scandinavian restaurant - one that serves lingonberry jam. She said it's one of his few weaknesses. I don't even know what that is," he admits with a crooked smile. "I've never had it."

"I did once," Lanie recalls, "when I was at college. An exchange student from Sweden brought it to a potluck to go with some meatballs. It wasn't bad. It tasted sort of like cranberry sauce. One of my girlfriends who got hooked on a crazy fish diet said there's a Scandinavian place uptown. We could…"

A "Law and Order" doink-doink emanates from Farley's pocket. "That's my ring tone for Kate. I should get it." He stares at the image in the attachment. "Sonofa…"

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"A stalker I thought I'd left behind in Detroit has shown up in New York, outside OOTC."

"That's scary! What are you going to do about it?"

"That deranged woman believes she's in love with me and that I could fall in love with her." Farley gathers Lanie in his arms. "I'm not afraid for me, but she kept saying that there's no one who could ever love me the way she does. She might be unhinged enough to come after you. I can't let that happen. I need to talk to her."

"How are you going to find her?"

"She's outside OOTC right now, probably waiting for me to show up. I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"Be careful, Baby," Lanie urges. "I've had more than one body on my table of a victim who was sure they could deal with love gone crazy."

* * *

Cyril hates having to do business with Kate Beckett-Castle. She's probably just like the Hendriks old woman, taking charge, bossing men around, but he can use the money. His business has been falling off lately. A couple of college brats started a competing company. They're hiring students cheap to work for them and undercutting his prices. Locking commercial buildings into contracts is what can keep him going.

At least the coffee is good. The bitch gave it to him in a fancy mug, so he can't take it with him when he leaves, but he can drink it while she jaws. She seems to be jawing a lot about New York grime and how she likes windows she can see through. He forces a smile. "Ma'am, if you want your glass to really shine, we're talking about service at least once a month."

"That is what I was thinking, Mr. Mulligan," Kate agrees. "Do you have a standard contract we can fill in or shall I use an OOTC form?"

Mulligan reaches into a soft leather briefcase he's carried ever since starting his business and pulls out several printed sheets. The case was expensive, but it has generally conveyed the right image. "I always come prepared."

Kate carefully hands him a pen. "So do I."

* * *

Farley can smell the chips even before he spots Janelle's hiding place. Her mouth falls open as he towers above her. "Janelle, you can't do this."

She jumps at him, trying to wrap her arms around his neck. "Farley, you need me. Those other women - they're nothing. They'll never understand you the way I do. I'm a part of you, your other half. I always have been."

Farley uncoils her grasp. "Janelle, you need help. I can get it for you - counseling, whatever it takes - but it can't be me. I don't love you. I never will."

Janelle pushes away from him. "I don't need no counseling. It's that bitch, isn't it? The one at 520. She's in your head. But can't you see? I'm better. I know your heart. You will love me. You'll have to love me. I can feel it."

"Janelle, you're wrong. That's never going to happen."

Janelle's anguished scream echoes across the parking lot. "It will! I'll get that bitch, and you won't stop me!" She flies at him, fingernails raking at his face.

Farley captures her hands before quickly lifting and throwing her over his shoulder. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm making a citizen's arrest for assault. I'm going to bring you inside where I can keep you from hurting anyone else until I get the police over here. You're going to get some help whether you want it or not."

* * *

Hunt's encrypted phone vibrates with an alert. труб – 1044 is a designation for a pipe inspection crawler, the schematic and the specs are attached. What the hell would Volkov want with a…? A picture forms in Hunt's mind as he scans the documents. Volkov could launch that thing from anywhere in the general vicinity of the loft. He could do… Damn! Hunt knows what he could pull off himself with a tool like that. He's blown targets up with cellphones. He can only imagine how much explosive Volkov could load on the little robot. At least with the specs, he's got the frequency for the telemetry. He can home in on the robot and on Volkov, but he damn well better grab a scanner and get down to Soho - fast.

* * *

Rick shakes his head when he gets the call from Kate. She went to OOTC to get evidence on a murderer, and the situation ends up with Farley having to grab his stalker. As Rick's favorite spaceship captain says, "Nothing ever goes smooth." The grammar is bad, but the sentiment is accurate. Kate will be staying around OOTC until the police finish taking a report. After that, Paula and Mick will be accompanying her home. He checks the fridge. At least there's a bottle of breast milk for Callie. And Kate will probably be famished too. She sounded proud of herself about getting both DNA and prints from Mulligan and springing a trap on bad guys always makes her ravenous.

He can put Callie in her swing near the kitchen while he puts together a crime buster's dinner. He studies the contents of the shelves. There's leftover spicy chicken that he can throw in with pasta, and there are plenty of veggies for one of the huge salads Kate likes. He'll need something for dessert. He's considering what to do with fresh strawberries when a loud rap on the door breaks his train of thought.

Rick never thought he'd see his father standing on his doorstep again. "Richard - you've got to take the baby and get out of here. And don't let Alexis or Martha or Kate come near the place."

"I've got security," Rick protests.

"I know," Hunt acknowledges. "I had to show them ID before they'd let me come up. Listen, I don't have time to explain, but the guy who planted that camera doesn't have to get close blow this building sky high. I think I can stop him, but I have to know you're all going to be safe."

"Shouldn't I call the police, the bomb squad?"

"By the time they get it together to handle this, it may be too late. Please, son, just do what I tell you."


	47. Chapter 47

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 47

With Callie in his arms, Rick struggles to send out a group warning text to his family and an alert to the police. Once he gets the baby and Custos settled in the car, he can call everyone individually through the sync as he drives. Proctor's operatives know that he left and will follow him to OOTC where he's asked Kate to stay put. Between the increased security there and police presence, they should be safe. And the childcare room has everything he and Kate need for Callie. He'll tell Alexis and Mother to meet him there too, at least they'll be together.

Once Rick agreed to evacuate his home, Hunt rushed off without giving him any more details - but the author can guess. Blowing the building sky high was clear enough, but it didn't sound like Hunt's old Russian nemesis had just planted a bomb. Hunt could have disarmed that himself or brought in someone who could. The explosives would have to be delivered somehow. A drone? If Rick finds out, it could make a great chapter. Damn! His files, his computer, everything is at the loft. A lot is stored in the cloud, but there are things he could never recover. Hell! As long as his family is safe, nothing else matters.

The cops have left OOTC by the time Rick gets there with Callie and Custos, but Paula Stabler and Mick Tunny are with Kate. Farley offers to stay as well, but Kate sends him back to Lanie. From the call Kate received earlier, she knows her friend will be frantic until she sees Farley up close and personal. After Rick's initial text, Kate's fists refused to uncurl and her jaw to unclench. It's better now that she knows that he and Callie are safe, and the cops will evacuate the threatened area, but she's not sure she trusts Hunt to cope with whatever is on its way to the loft. She's not sure she trusts Hunt at all and knows Rick is only doing it because he has no choice.

Alexis responded that she's on her way, but Rick has yet to hear from Martha. According to the diva's joyful pronouncement that morning, she had been planning a day at the Acorn with Jonathan Price - and enjoying whatever came later. She should be out of harm's way. Until whatever is going down reaches some kind of conclusion, the rest of them can settle in at OOTC. Fortunately, the place is pretty well stocked with the basics - food, coffee, and a case of diapers.

* * *

To Hunt, his fingers can't move fast enough to program the frequencies he wants to locate into his scanner. There are no signals. That's a mixed blessing, meaning that Volkov has yet to activate the crawler, but Hunt has no way of pinning down the Russian's location either. He has a good guess. The Russian will use a manhole to access the sewer that runs parallel to the other pipes under the street. Hunt hasn't had time to obtain the plans that would tell him exactly how they are laid out, but he's guessing that Volkov would shape a charge to blow in the direction of a gas pipe. If Hunt were taking out a nest of terrorists, that's what he might do. The question is, which manhole? The city has them every few blocks, and the crawler has a long range. Hunt paces the floor of Richard's loft until two readouts appear on his screen. One is Volkov's control of the crawler. The other is the telemetry the crawler is sending back. Both signals are almost directly east of the loft about two klicks away. As yet, there is barely any distance between their origins. Hunt prays that he can get to Volkov before the crawler gets much farther along on its journey.

Leaning back against the leather seat in the plush black sedan that is part of the diplomatic fleet, Volkov dismisses the driver. Alone to revel in his impending victory, Gregor grasps the electronic controller for his deadly invader. The robot was designed for careful inspection, not rapid transit, and its movement is far from swift. No matter. Gregor's been waiting this long. He can relish each centimeter of progress until he sets off his explosive revenge.

Hunt curses traffic and one-way streets. A few years ago, he would have abandoned his car and run, but that would no longer be any faster. He also has a jammer that when boosted by the power of the car's battery that can block any detonation signal the Russian can put out - along with every cell phone in the area, but he'll need to be within 100 meters.

He's close. If Volkov is running true to form, he'll be someplace comfortable. Hunt's signals strengthen as he spots the car with diplomatic plates. That has to be it. Hunt activates his jammer and parks in the nearest space. The curb is red, but he'll worry about tickets later. It's time to take Volkov out once and for all.

Hunt's ammunition, courtesy of the Skip Works, can penetrate bulletproof glass as if it were tissue paper. With his special goggles, he can see Volkov through the tinted glass of the deluxe sedan. The remnants of the Russian's brain splatter the windows after Hunt's single shot.

Hunt slides behind the wheel of Volkov's car. Fortunately for him, what's left of Volkov is confined to the back seat. He'll have to get rid of both Volkov and the vehicle quickly before anyone asks too many questions. The company has a facility not far from Duchess where the car can be crushed and the body incinerated. Volkov will just disappear. To Hunt's own agency or to the FSB, vanishing agents are just part of doing business. There may be some chatter in back channels, but no inquiry will ever take place.

* * *

The notification of a bomb threat in lower Manhattan was confirmed through an official channel. The Bomb Disposal Unit's Captain Frank Mahoney has no idea which one, but the agency involved had good intelligence. Fortunately, the explosive device attached to its robotic delivery system wasn't complicated. Whoever constructed it must have assumed that no one would attempt to disarm it - bad assumption.

Mahoney doesn't recognize the explosive. It appears somewhat like C-4 but with a different color and texture. The lab will have to analyze it. Whoever attached it to the detonator made only one connection - easy to sever. This was no manic bomb-builder, more like someone with a single target in mind.

The signal that controls the robot's approach, is no longer coming in. It's unlikely that Mahoney will ever know where or from whom that broadcast originated. It's not his job to find out. If the detectives want to sweat over it, that's their problem. As far as he's concerned, the threat is past.

* * *

A text that appears on Rick's phone contains only two words: "All clear." The number is blocked- of course. There was an item on the newsfeed on Rick's phone about the New York BDU disarming an explosive device in a sewer not far from his loft, but details were sparse. His father could have done him the courtesy of giving him the full story, but Rick didn't really expect it. He's come to understand that the bruised feelings of an abandoned son can't matter in Hunt's world. The old man was right. Contact between them can be disastrous for Rick and everyone he loves. Perhaps someday that will change, but for now, he will just have to be grateful that the family he knows and loves is safe and sound.

A/N Chapter 7 of my The Rookie story "The Way Back" is posted.


	48. Chapter 48

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 48

Rita raises an eyebrow and lowers her window as she pulls up at the gate of the Company disposal facility to get Hunt. "I take it Volkov will now be among the forever missing but not missed."

"You take it correctly," Hunt confirms, folding his large frame into her passenger seat.

She gazes at him, trying to pierce the opacity of his expression. "So where do you want to go, Duchess or back to New York?"

"I need to check in at Duchess. I've been away too long. But, you know, my quarters there aren't bad. The food isn't either. You could stay awhile, maybe give me some pointers on how to set things up better for female agents."

"Is that all you want me to do, Jack?"

Hunt leans over for a quick kiss. "Not close to all, but we'll work out the rest when we get there."

* * *

Pushing up on one elbow, Lanie reaches toward the scratches on Farley's face. "I hope these don't get infected. God knows what that woman might have had on her fingertips. Nail salons can have all kinds of bugs."

Farley presses a kiss to her fingers. "I don't think Janelle went to a salon. When she was talking to the cops, she claimed she was saving every cent she could make to get a nice dress for our date together. And with the amount of stuff you put on me, you could have eradicated every germ within miles.

"I believe Janelle will be spending at least 48 hours at Bellevue, maybe longer if a judge doesn't think she's competent to aid in her defense. And she admitted to coming to New York to find me and wanting to hurt you. That puts stalking, harassing, and menacing charges on top of what would otherwise be misdemeanor assault. The court will issue a protection order which may include mandatory counseling depending on what the doctors think, and she could get a year or more of jail time. Whatever happens, she won't be coming near either one of us again."

"Now that I know you're safe, I do feel kind of sorry for Janelle," Lanie admits. "You're pretty easy to fall in love with. I don't think it took me more than a minute."

Farley pulls her into his arms. "And I know it only took me a second to fall in love with you."

* * *

Jake strides into Terry's lab in response to his text. "From what Laura tells me, I missed a lot of excitement."

"Not much. Just shielding the Beckett-Castle family from a bomb threat and a crazed fan attacking Kutcher," Terry responds, a grin teasing his lips. "But you should be excited about this. I'm still extracting Cyril Mulligan's DNA, but Kate got me perfect prints, and they're a match to some that turned up in another 30-year-old unsolved case. Kate got the N.Y.P.D. to send OOTC a copy of the file.

"A man attempted to grab another older woman, Millie Luther. She was legally blind but had been studying karate for 20 years. He story reminds me of Master Po on Kung Fu; she could feel everything that was going on around her. She fought him off, and somehow he grabbed onto her purse in the process. CSU was able to lift a couple of prints but couldn't match them. The cops didn't put a whole lot of effort into finding the guy. Other than Millie describing him as feeling tall and smelling like gas, they didn't have a lot to go on."

Jake scrubs his hand down his face. "That can't be a coincidence. Mulligan has to be Neddie Wolper's and probably Lillian Price's murderer. How long before you have the DNA results?"

"I'm going to let things run all night, so late tomorrow if we're lucky."

"We can't send the cops after him until then," Jake realizes. "The statute of limitations has run out on his assault of Millie Luther. So make us lucky, Terry, as lucky as you can."

"I'll do my best," Terry promises.

* * *

It's been dark for hours when Rick climbs into bed beside a half-asleep Kate. "Custos wanted a late-night walk. I think he's fascinated by all the new scents in the neighborhood. He could probably track every member of the BSU and much of the 12th Precinct by now."

Kate rolls over to face him. "They all might have been useless if he hadn't alerted us to that camera. We should do something special for him."

"You mean like a doggy party?" Rick wonders. "I'm not sure he'd welcome the intrusion into the family territory."

"No, I thought maybe a visit with Miniver. She'll be taking care of him when we go to France. He might like to get reacquainted. He seemed to love all the time he spent with her."

"And _vice versa_," Rick notes. "Maybe we can invite her to a "Celebration of Custos" dinner - all her favorites and his. But we have some celebrating of our own to do. Avoiding being blown to kingdom come is nothing to sneeze at."

"I have a feeling that sneezing isn't what's on your mind."

"I was thinking about other physical responses to stimulation."

"And what kind of stimulation would that be?" Kate inquires, thrusting her hand beneath the waistband of his shorts.

"I think you've just put your finger on an answer - for a start, anyway."

The greedy curve of Kate's hand encircles his growing arousal. "Then I guess I'll just have to see what else you can come up with."

He reaches beneath her OOTC T-shirt to cup the firm muscle of her lower back. I'm sure we can raise that question together.

Lifting her free hand to the nape of his neck, she brings his lips toward hers, and their tongues bow and curtsy before entwining in embrace. Beneath the thin fabric of her garment, Rick detaches her nursing bra to find the brown-tipped globes surging toward his touch. As he brings them to rapt attention, Kate feels a need growing more urgent between her thighs. Her hips rotate against him, unbidden, inviting deeper intimacy.

Simultaneously new and familiar, they make their joining, beginning the advance and retreat as ancient as humanity. Craving more, she raises her legs, wrapping them around the breadth of his back. The bed creaks beneath them, but they are unaware of the sound or anything but skin against skin, lips against lips. The first wavelets ripple within Kate, presaging the tsunami of release. Inside her, she can feel Ricks' response, as they are forced apart gasping for air. Rick brings her close again, her head pillowed on his chest, and her hair splayed over both of them. Gently he pulls up the sheet, and sleep and the night take them both.

* * *

It's too early for the alarm on his phone to have interrupted his slumber, but Rick slowly becomes aware of the tune drifting in from the kitchen. Alexis is singing "_Sur le pont d'Avignon_." He taught it to her himself when she was five, and she's loved the little tune ever since. But why is she singing it when it's barely past sunrise? Slowly it comes to him that his daughter has an early morning meeting with her French club to take requests for pictures she should post or bring back to share from their trip to France. She'll be out of school soon, and it won't be long before the family departs for overseas. The timing for inviting Miniver over for dinner and a romp with Custos should work out just about right.


	49. Chapter 49

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 49

It's 3 p.m. when Jake's eyes fly open from a nap as he makes a connection to what's been niggling at him since he talked to Terry the day before. Lillian Price had a partial print on her shoe. Since the police weren't able to match it, it was little more than a footnote in the case folder, but now it could be the key to solving her murder. Lillian's file is on Jake's desk at OOTC. Terry should be in the lab. With any luck, by the time Jake gets there, the scientist might even have the results of Mulligan's DNA.

Terry examines the copy of the old fingerprint, comparing it to the print Kate obtained from Cyril Mulligan. You've got 12 points of similarity here. That might fly in court when the D.A. adds in the connection to Neddie Wolper's case. We have a slam dunk on Neddie. I not only got a match to the DNA from the tissue under her nails, I put together a phenotype. It's distinctive. Not many men have the genes to reach that height."

One corner of Jake's mouth tilts up. "You didn't get him mixed up with Farley, did you?"

Terry chuckles as he shakes his head. "Not unless Farley has Irish genes for baldness." His expression darkens. "The thing is, Jake, even though we've got Mulligan for Neddie Wolpert's murder, the fingerprint evidence that he killed Lillian Price isn't 100% conclusive, and I'd have to say so when I testify."

"And Jonathan Price is our client. So, we'll need a confession," Jake muses, stroking the white stubble forming along his jaw. "Grilling suspects was never my strong point. I concentrated on the research while my partner was the interrogation meister."

"I get it," Terry responds, "but from what Lanie Parish told me the couple of times we went out, Kate's incredible at it. And she, her husband, and OOTC have enough pull with the N.Y.P.D. that the cops should let her sit in on Mulligan's questioning."

"I would hope so," Jake agrees. "Without us, they wouldn't even have a case against Mulligan for Neddie or Lillian."

* * *

Kate takes a seat next to A.D.A. Toni Gonzalez in the interrogation room at the 12th Precinct. Her greeting from Victoria Gates had been perfunctory. Apparently, the captain still isn't entirely sanguine with having her domain invaded. Well, this was Kate's domain first, and she can still be an expert at controlling it. L.T. brings in Cyril Mulligan, who stares angrily at Kate while being cuffed to the table. Whether out of pride or not wanting to spend the money, he'd turned down the offer of a lawyer. Kate doesn't care which, but it will make her job more manageable. "You entrapped me." Mulligan accuses her.

"Entrapment implies that you were induced to commit a crime that would not otherwise take place, Mr. Mulligan," Toni interjects. " That didn't happen here. I suspect that if Ms. Beckett-Castle had been around at all at the time Neddie Wolper and Lillian Price were killed, she would have been more interested in pacifiers than perpetrators. I believe that in that era, my own passion was Oscar the Grouch."

"She called me into OOTC under false pretenses," Mulligan insists. "She gave me a contract to wash her windows. She must have stolen my DNA and fingerprints."

"And if your company is able to do the work, I'll keep to the contract, Cyril," Kate assures him. "And for the record, I didn't steal anything. Your DNA and fingerprints were both on property belonging to OOTC, and I can assure you that every detail of how they were acquired has been witnessed and documented. We have the best forensics equipment and experts in the country. No jury will have any doubt, reasonable or otherwise, about the evidence against you."

Kate stands, looking down at the suspect, despite his height. "Cyril, we have you cold, for the murders of Neddie Wolpert and Lillian Price. Jonathan Price needs to know how his grandmother died, and OOTC promised to do its best to find out. Now I believe Ms. Gonzalez is in a generous mood." Toni shrugs and nods. "You tell us how you committed Lillian Price's murder, every detail and…"

"I'll ask the judge for medium security," Toni continues. "You'd be with a less dangerous population, and you might even get to see the sun once in a while."

"It's a good deal, Cyril," Kate insists. "Unless you want to spend the rest of your life with your back to the wall surrounded by other cons who might strongly - very strongly - impress upon you their opinion of men who attack grandmothers."

Mulligan hunches over the table, leaning his head in his hands. "Fine. I'll tell you how the bitch died."

* * *

Jake shifts uncomfortably in his chair at Sardi's as the guest of Broadway's diva. "You didn't need to take me to dinner, Ms. Rodgers, I was only doing my job."

"It's Martha," the grand dame insists. "It's little enough thanks for what you did for Jonathan. He is a dear friend, and I hated to see him suffer. He needed closure."

"Friend," Jake thinks to himself, it seemed like more than that, but if that's what Martha says, he'll take her at her word. "And now that Cyril Mulligan is behind bars, how is Mr. Price doing?" Jake inquires.

"He rewrote the end of his play," Martha informs him. "The reviews from the previews are excellent. He is in his glory and already planning to take it to a bigger stage. You may have contributed to the next hit on the Great White Way, Jake."

Jake twiddles with the edge of his napkin. "That's quite a thing, Ms. - Martha. Will you be back on the boards with him?"

"Perhaps for a short run, but, I won't be seeing much of Jonathan. I am looking toward a more demanding assignment. Nederlander is launching another revival of Gypsy, and they have asked me to reprise my role as of Mama Rose."

Jake smacks his palm against the table, rattling the silverware. "That's wonderful. I have the album from the last time you played her. You were the best! Um, I mean, you still are. Nederlander is lucky to have you."

"Perhaps, you'd like to take in a rehearsal," Martha proposes. "They're closed, but I can get you a pass. I'd love to get your impressions of my interpretation."

Jake meets the blue eyes gazing across the table. "Martha, I'd like that very much."

* * *

Compared to how he feels now, Farley was calm before a game - and he was known for sweating through his jersey before the first dribble. Tonight will be no game. He may be doing the most important thing he's ever done. He feels in his pocket for the small Tiffany-blue box. It's there, just like it was the other 20 times he checked. He double-checked his reservations too.

He picks at an imaginary piece of lint on the sleeve of his jacket. He's had the suit for over a year. Maybe he should have bought a new one, but he can't just walk into a men's store. Even the big and tall shops can't accommodate the length of his arms and legs. He has most of his clothes made for him. That takes time, and he doesn't want to wait.

He's never met anyone like Lanie Parish. He never thought that he would. And she told him she loved him. She wasn't coy, or flippant. She just said it - the most beautiful thing he ever heard. So tonight he'll ask the question. He can only hope to get the answer he so desperately needs.


	50. Chapter 50

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 50

The booth that Farley requested is in the back corner of a quiet restaurant. A fat candle provides a warm glow over the white tablecloth and simple place settings. There is no set menu, with the chef/owner creating dishes based on the finest ingredients available at the market that day. Farley figured Lanie would appreciate ordering something fresh and unique.

Farley wishes that he felt fresh and unique. It seems like a miracle that he can get a swallow of water past the tightness in his throat. Should he propose at the beginning of the meal or over dessert? He has no idea. He drums his long fingers on the table as their server recites the night's offerings.

Lanie studies her date. She hasn't seen him this distracted since the poker game when they met. After she orders the grilled chicken with fresh pears and quinoa, he tells the server he'll have the last thing on the list - chicken livers sautéed with fresh mushrooms and a spinach salad. Usually, Farley won't go near spinach. He obviously wasn't paying attention. She has no idea why, but he'll come out with whatever is on his mind when he's ready. He always does.

When after they've had their entrées for 10 minutes Farley is still pushing his food around on his plate, Lanie decides she's had enough. "All right, out with it!"

"What?" Farley asks, his fork slipping from his grip.

"Something's bothering you, and you're never going to make it through dinner until you tell me what it is. So spill!"

Farley gulps a non-existent bite of food and reaches into his pocket, his fingers reassured that its precious contents haven't vanished. "Nothing's wrong." He struggles to free his long legs from the confines of the table and upholstered bench. "I-I need to ask you something." He falls to one knee. "Lanie Parish, you are the most incredible woman I've ever met, and the best thing that has ever happened to me." He pulls the box out of his pocket, the single brilliant stone flashing in the candlelight. "Will you marry me?"

Images whirl through Lanie's head of the many bodies who passed through her lab, thinking they had time. After the two years Kate spent pushing Rick away, a bullet could have taken him forever. Lanie has no idea what the days or even the seconds ahead will bring, but she knows she's never loved a man like she loves the one kneeling on the floor in front of her. "Yes, Farley Kutcher, I will marry you."

* * *

Kate can hardly believe that she's spending the evening packing to go to France. Rick told her she could bring whatever she liked. There aren't any luggage restrictions on a private plane. Considering all the baby things they'll need for Callie, it's a good thing, but Kate doesn't want to take too much stuff. Both Martha and Alexis have described the fashion houses of Paris, and even if she isn't as enthusiastic as they are to explore them, she plans to give herself the option of picking out something. If nothing else, she can remember the trip when she wears it. "Natural Woman" floats from her cellphone.

Lanie barely waits for a hello. "Kate, you're not going to believe this. Farley and I are getting married."

Kate smiles to herself. She has no trouble believing it. She could practically hear the crack of the thunderbolt when the two of them laid eyes on each other at the poker game. She didn't think it would be quite this fast, but it was only a matter of time before Farley popped the question. "Congratulations. When?"

"I was hoping as soon as you and Rick get back from your trip. I need you to be my matron of honor."

"I will be honored, but I should be around to help you with the arrangements."

"There won't be too many. Farley and I have agreed to go small. After what happened with Janelle, he wants to keep a low profile - as much as that's possible for him. And my mom will be flying up from Louisiana the week before to help. But I was hoping that I could meet you in Paris for a couple of days to find a dress - dresses for both of us. I can't think of anything more romantic than a Parisian wedding gown, even if the ceremony is going to be in a small chapel."

Kate mentally runs through Rick's itinerary. There will be several sizable chunks of time when he will be off fulfilling his chores for Black Pawn. The thoroughly investigated Manon can be with Callie. There's no reason why Kate and Lanie can't spend some time together in Paris salons. "That would be great. I'll send you my schedule, and we can work out the timing. Rick and I are renting a townhouse while we're there. You can stay there with Alexis and Callie and me while he's off doing his business."

"Sounds perfect! We'll tackle the halls of couture together."

* * *

The Mole occupies a portion of the catacombs that explorers of the maze have rarely seen. He hasn't seen it, or anything else, himself. He's been blind since birth, at least in the conventional sense, but he never has any trouble knowing where he is. He can hear the slightest sound bouncing off anything in his path and feel the cushions of air that form at walls and around large objects. He's never known sight and finds it hard to miss what he never had. He doesn't miss much.

From his position below the city, The Mole can use his equipment to eavesdrop on everything. He's tipped the authorities to several terrorist attacks - anonymously of course. Giving himself or his location away would spell disaster. He deals in information, a commodity for which many would rather kill than pay. So far, he's managed to mask his presence, letting it be known only to Jacque Henri and a couple of others who carry out operations above and deliver supplies.

The Mole is content not to venture above ground. The noise of the traffic and countless strains of conversation bombard him, and there's nothing that he wants that he can't have where he is. He won't dull his senses with wine, but he consumes the finest tea, cheese, and fruit. He can listen to the music that he loves and wear soft-textured clothing he likes, regardless of fashion trends.

Pursuing his current work is imperative. The growing right-wing movement has been organizing false flag operations to make it appear as if immigrants are setting off bombs. He's tracking them around the city as they obtain materials and formulate their plans. The Mole's too young to remember the Nazis firsthand, but his parents and grandparents told him enough stories while he was growing up that the rise of fascism in Europe sends chills through his body. Under their rule, a child born without sight as he was, might have been killed in the name of preserving the master race. He has been known to compromise his scruples from time to time, but he can't allow a movement like that to flourish. He'll fight them. With every sound he hears, with every electronic signal he detects, he can throw more stumbling blocks in its path.


	51. Chapter 51

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 51

Charles de Gaulle Airport is in chaos. The bomb that went off at the lost property desk in the airport train station injured very few people and killed no one, yet created widespread panic. It is hours before The Becket-Castle entourage is permitted to disembark from their plane, and their progress toward ground transportation is excruciatingly slow.

Kate was able to feed Callie during the wait, but the baby is still tired and cranky, much like the rest of her family. Rick calls Gaston, who meets them in a loading area with a sedan complete with a baby seat. The automobile is large by French standards but barely holds their luggage. The Frenchman fights Paris traffic all the way to Rick's rental home.

Fortunately, a portable crib for Callie is already set up. Rick carefully settles the baby, who mercifully fell asleep in the car, into her new bed. He and Kate sink down onto a small velvet settee while Alexis drops into a wing chair covered in brocade that harkens back to an earlier era. Glancing at his watch, Gaston informs the group that Manon should be arriving in a couple of hours, before departing to rejoin his own family.

"I'm going to explore the kitchen," Rick announces. "Much as I love French cuisine, the last thing we need is to drag Callie out of here tonight to find a restaurant. The rental agent assured me that the refrigerator, pantry, and wine rack would be stocked. She emphasized the wine rack."

"I'll go with you," Alexis volunteers. "I'm starved."

"Of course you are; you're a teenager. It's your natural state of being," Rick quips.

The refrigerator is about half the size of the one in the loft but contains milk, eggs, butter, juice, Perrier, and a ham. Fresh fruit and a baguette sit on the small counter, and as promised, there are several bottles of wine. The cupboards also contain flour, sugar, spices, and condiments, as well as cookware. Rick and Alexis lock eyes. "Omelets."

* * *

The Mole checks his feeds. The group he's been monitoring planted the bomb at Charles de Gaulle. He's sure of it. The smug chatter at the media cry of "Terrorists" with the unspoken implication of "Muslim," is unmistakable. No doubt the leadership is already preparing speeches denouncing immigration and demanding that the influx of refugees be put to an end. It's time to intervene. He'll transmit his messages along his usual channels, but they could get lost in the massive flow of tips that flood the authorities after an incident. It's best to send the details he uncovers - and more - directly. He summons Jacque Henri. The man has some dangerous contacts, but so far, he's always accomplished his missions.

* * *

Kate answers Manon's knock on the solid wood door. The woman is as she appeared in the photos and video Kate received, but more vibrant. After Kate ushers her in to see Callie, she nods as she regards the still-sleeping baby. "_La petite fille_ was exhausted by the trip, _non_?"

"_Oui_," Kate responds. "We all were, more after we landed than in the air. I'm just glad no one died in the explosion."

"_Absolument_," Manon agrees, "but the terrorist attacks are becoming more frequent. The people are becoming impatient for action."

Kate sighs. "I understand. Most New Yorkers would move heaven and earth to prevent another 9/11. My husband and I were thinking of Paris as a place we could escape that tension."

"Is there such a place in the world?" Manon wonders. "But Paris is for lovers. You put cares aside here and enjoy each other. I will take care of the little one."

"Rick has business in France, but when we can, we are planning on it."

Manon winks. "_Trés bien_."

* * *

Rick usually enjoys interviews, but still recovering from the trip from New York, he isn't looking forward to this one. The French liaison for Black Pawn has urged him to be lively and use exaggerated facial expressions as he does on American television. Rick hadn't thought he was exaggerating anything, just displaying his normal enthusiasm, which at the moment is at a low ebb. But he assures Mademoiselle Poirot - which he regards as a great name - that he will do his best.

The interviewer, Michelle Macron, seems particularly obsessed with the love scene in _Heat Wave_ that Rick had caught Kate retreating to the women's room at the 12th Precinct to read. He suspects it might be even a little juicier or more explicit in French and is not inclined to act it out except in terms of the satisfied smile that came over his face when he experienced the real thing with Kate. That is enough to make Michelle's eyes glow, and as a surrogate for her viewers, she kisses him on both cheeks. He fervently hopes the piece will air when Kate can't or won't watch it. She had said that she was planning to take Callie and Alexis with her to visit the Tuileries Garden, so she shouldn't be anywhere near a TV set.

Rick is looking forward to a romantic evening and has no official obligations the next day. Tonight, Alexis is planning a visit to a café that features French poetry. He and Kate can spend leisurely hours dining at _L'Initial,_ with Callie under the watchful eye of Manon. They can also sleep in a little the next morning before exploring the catacombs.

* * *

Jacque Henri rereads his email from The Mole. As usual, with messages from the reclusive eavesdropper, he had to decrypt it. Most of it wasn't worth the trouble. It was one of The Mole's many political rants. Henri doesn't care about politics. He's on the side of whoever is willing to pay him the most. The Mole has been a lucrative client, so Henri has not disputed the man's terror of jackboots marching through the streets of Paris. Fear can be an excellent motivator for parting with funds - and a lot of The Mole's money has found its way into Henri's accounts.

So, now the little cave dweller wants Henri to find the group responsible for the bomb at De Gaulle. It's a dangerous assignment, and he'll ask a lot for it - but it won't be hard. Henri has known for months of the actions of an offshoot of the MPF, the _Vestes Pourpres_. The group is no longer affiliated with the larger organization, having decided that the Movement for France was not devoted enough to ridding the country of what the splinter group regard as a scourge.

As far as Henri can tell, as yet the _Vestes Pourpres _are not particularly adept at what they do, but they are learning. An explosion at De Gaulle, even without fatalities, will inspire fear in the citizens of Paris, which is no doubt what the group has in mind. And they have shown some success in nudging the media, if not the intelligence services, toward a false conclusion.

The Mole is concerned that the group's success will increase and wants to put an end to it. _Bien_. Henri will tell him what he can find out about the inner workings of _Vestes Pourpres. _Then he can charge even more money to sabotage them - unless he gets a better offer. There's always the chance of getting a better offer. In either case, Henri will come out on top. He always does.


	52. Chapter 52

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 52

"That was quite a performance," Kate remarks.

Rick gulps. "I thought you went to the Tuileries Garden. How did you see it?"

"Your grin popped up as a meme on Alexis' phone, and there was a clip on YouTube. Apparently, Michelle Macron was quite impressed."

Rick can feel sweat dampening his forehead. "I swear, Kate, there was nothing to that. _Mlle_. Macron was just being French."

Kate can't hold back a giggle. "I know. I suppose I should be flattered. I remember the first time I saw that expression on your face."

Rick swipes the back of his hand across his brow. "Then allow me to continue flattering you. Tonight I want nothing more than a romantic dinner with my wife - and whatever very private amusements may follow."

Kate trails her fingertip over the skin exposed by the open collar of his shirt. "Manon did tell me that Paris is for lovers."

"Then by all means," Rick says, before pressing his lips to Kate's, "let's not make a liar out of her."

* * *

Lanie scrolls down the list of available flights to Paris. She has more than enough vacation built up to take the time. Perlmutter may bitch about taking on the extra load, but he'll brag about his superior deductive skills for months.

There are plenty of deals, some of them cheaper than her last flight to visit her parents in Louisiana. She has no idea how that works, but she's willing to take advantage of whatever savings the airlines offer. As salaries for doctors go, medical examiners aren't high on the list. She's not starving, but she's not about to buy a country home either, and she wants to be able to afford her dream wedding gown.

Long white dresses had competed with tutus in Lanie's little girl dreams. Once the blossoming of her assets made it impossible to pursue a career in ballet, the sweeping lengths of satin and lace had taken first place in her imaginings. In the past few years, she'd begun to doubt that her dreams could become a reality. Then she met Farley. And now she's going to Paris.

The attack at De Gaulle made her a little bit nervous, but as a New Yorker, she's more likely to be killed by a cab barreling into a crosswalk than a terrorist's bomb. If she flinched at every possible danger, she could never leave her bed in the morning. Of course, with Farley in it, she might not want to.

She finds just the flight she wants. It's not the cheapest, but it coordinates best with the schedule Kate gave her. She presses the buy button before the airline can make her savings disappear.

* * *

Rick is surprised Kate isn't purring as she stretches cat-like, her toes pointing and her arms over her head. "Good morning."

She snuggles into his shoulder. "Good morning yourself."

"Ready for some adventure?" Rick asks.

"I thought that was what we were doing last night."

"Adventure of a different kind. I thought we'd explore the catacombs."

Kate crinkles her nose. "Haven't we seen enough bodies? Why a bunch of old bones?"

Rick pushes himself up on his elbows. "I wasn't talking about the ossuaries operated by the museum. There's so much more left over from the tunnels of the old mines built under Paris. Imagine people beneath the city for centuries. If stone walls could talk!"

"Babe, other than your theories about CHUD in the sewers, I had no idea you were interested in what's underground."

"I want no part of cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers," Rick insists, in Paris or anywhere else. "I just want to experience the ambiance, and imagine what it would be like to hide down there, to live down there - like Beauty and the Beast on TV - the one with Ron Perlman, not Jay Ryan."

Kate rolls her eyes. "So you think that dank tunnels are romantic?"

"Anywhere I'm with you is romantic - especially Paris. And it will be cool and quiet with no one around. Just the two of us, isolated from the vagaries of the world above. Come on, Kate! It will be fun!"

"OK, I give up," Kate replies, shaking her head. "The catacombs it is. Strange as it may be, at least we'll have some time by ourselves before you make your next stabs at charming your French readers and Lanie and I go shopping for her wedding."

Kate can see that Rick was planning their underground expedition long before they left New York. He brought flashlights, backpacks, and hiking boots. He offers to stop off so she can buy a pair, but she decides she'll be fine with her favorite high tops. Rick shows her an entrance he marked on a printout of a map. "I got this on an underground site - pun intended. This is supposed to be a section of the tunnels where people used to live. There were some postings with the opinion that they still do. Hmm, maybe we should take a weapon, just in case. The knife we used to cut baguettes is pretty sharp."

"Or if they're used to living underground we could just shine our flashlights in their eyes," Kate suggests.

"Right! Like fighting the Morlocks in The Time Machine. "OK, no bread knife. I think we've got everything we need: water, snacks, camera, extra batteries. Onward and downward!"

* * *

The Mole can both hear and smell Jacque Henri approaching. The sweat and soap mixed with gun oil is his usual scent, but the gun oil is stronger today. The Mole's wondering if the man took another assignment. He knows that Henri deals in dirty work, but that is what makes him so effective. "Have you found the _Vestes Pourpres?_"

"I have," Henri confirms. "They planted the bomb at De Gaulle. They went through several bottles of wine bragging about it." He snorts. "Screw caps."

"I don't care what kind of wine they drink!" The Mole exclaims. "Did you let the authorities know who is really to blame for the explosion?"

"I had another idea," Henri replies mildly, reaching inside his jacket.

The Mole can hear the rustling of fabric and metal sliding against leather. "Henri, _que faites-vous_?"

"Following through on a better offer." Henri puts a bullet in the center of The Mole's forehead and stares down at the body on the hard stone, before dragging it into a side tunnel and concealing it behind some rocks. The Mole will never be seen on the surface again. Down here, it will be years, if ever, until anyone finds the bones that will remain. There are some excellent miniaturized electronics in The Mole's lair. Henri can take those with him. If he can't use them himself, they will bring a good price. The Mole won't be needing them.

* * *

Rick points to a wooden door that looks as if it's been in place for centuries. "This is it, the entrance point on my map. He pulls on the ancient metal handle, expecting resistance, but stumbles backward, when the door opens easily. "We may not be as alone as I thought. Someone's been here recently."

"If that spoils your fun, we could go somewhere else," Kate suggests.

Rick shakes his head. "No way! There could be a secret society meeting down there, or maybe a tunnel-loving cult. I want to find out."


	53. Chapter 53

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 53

Kate runs her finger over the rough-hewn stone wall. "Babe, this is weird."

"I know, right?" Rick responds almost bouncing on the rock floor. "These incredible tunnels are under a great Metropolitan city. You almost expect Lex Luthor to have set up housekeeping around the next corner."

Kate rakes back her hair, frowning. "Maybe someone has. There's no dust, and the air is fresh like it's filtered or something."

Sucking in a deep breath, Rick rolls his tongue around in his mouth. "You're right, and it tastes clean too. Ooh - maybe I was right about a secret society having its headquarters down here." Moistening his index finger in his mouth, he holds it up in front of him. "The air is blowing toward us. Whatever is down here is up ahead." He picks up his pace. "Hey, it looks like the tunnel forks off where that pile of rocks is. You think it's a marker, or someone meant this to be a shrine?" His light illuminates the stack. "What the hell? I can see fabric under there, like a piece of a flannel shirt." He pulls a few stones away, before lurching back. "Kate, there's a body under there - and not an old one."

* * *

Gaston hands Rick a folder, which he flips open so Kate can read it with him. "I think I can get a sense of this. Homicide is the same in both languages, but your French is better than mine."

"It's a homicide, all right," Kate agrees, her eyes scanning down the page, "a bullet in the head, and according to this, that body had only been dead for about two hours. We must have just missed the killer."

"Well _Dieu merci_ for that," Gaston interjects. "Who knows what would have happened if you'd caught him in the act? Whoever shot this man might have shot you too. Look, Rick, I had to call in a lot of favors to get that report for a civilian - an American civilian. You should leave this alone and let the authorities handle it. You're not in France to play detective."

"Gaston is right," Kate declares. "You have your appearances to make for Black Pawn, and Lanie should be getting on a plane in a few hours to fly here. This is one mystery we should leave alone."

"I suppose you're right," Rick concedes, his shoulders slumping. "Gaston, let us take you to dinner and then Kate and I should get some rest. Big day tomorrow for both of us."

* * *

Henri displays a photo he took of The Mole's body with the day's newspaper before he piled up the final stones to hide his victim. "I did as you asked. Where is my payment?"

A young man with a gold pip on the collar of his purple jacket comes forward with a mesh bag containing bundles that appear to be currency. "You can see. It's all here. Now leave us. We have work to do."

Henri shrugs. "You know how to signal me if you require my services again." He hides the cash beneath his shirt for the short walk from the nondescript building that is headquarters to the _Vestes Pourpres_, to his Motobécane. As he is about to load his blood money into a pannier, a charge within it explodes, throwing shreds of scrap paper that stood in for euros inside his packets, into the air to rain mockingly down on the gaping maw in Henri's chest.

* * *

When Kate arrives at the airport in the limousine that Rick insisted on hiring for her to pick up Lanie at the airport, things are a lot calmer than when she and her family landed. Still, by the time Lanie makes it through customs, and back to the Beckett-Castle home base in Paris, the M.E. is more than ready to coo at Callie and kick back with the glass of white wine Kate offers. "I've been looking at designs online and in magazines. I don't know, Kate, I mean I love fairy-tale dresses, but some of the gowns I've seen would make me look like I have saddlebags on my hips. It's not like Farley isn't going to know what's really underneath, but I want to look…"

"Like you dreamed?" Kate fills in. "I understand. When I was little, my dad showed me a picture of my mom the day they were married. She looked incredible. The dress was part of it. It was gorgeous, but there was something else about her. She glowed; you know? Like she knew she was going to be with the man she could love for the rest of her life. When I was a teenager, I had dreams of looking like that - feeling like that. My vision of that future was shattered when my mother was killed, and I didn't think I ever would dream that dream again - until Rick."

"I know," Lanie agreed. "It's a cliché that brides are 'radiant,' but when you married writer-boy, you were. That's what I want."

"And as your matron of honor, it is my responsibility to see that you get it. I talked to Martha about shopping here, and she made some calls. She has some longstanding friends in the fashion industry here, so she arranged some ins for us with some of the design shops. We'll find what you want - or have them make it for you."

* * *

Rick is fidgeting in the green room, his second green room of the day. The interviews haven't been bad. No one else has tried to kiss him, and they've even delved a bit into Rick's storytelling techniques, but he can't get the body that he and Kate found in the tunnels off his mind.

With some help from Alexis, Rick managed to get through the rest of the report that Gaston gave him. The murder victim was blind and a recluse of sorts who made his home in a chamber just off the tunnel where Rick and Kate found his body. He was allegedly an information broker, known to the _gendarmerie_ and some industrial movers and shakers. "He must have found out something he shouldn't have," Rick mutters to himself. "But what?" Rick looks up as a production assistant/translator comes to the door. "Is it time?"

"Our apologies, _Monsieur_ Castle. There will be a delay. We have a breaking news story, and we have a reporter going live on location."

"Can I watch it?" Rick asks.

"_Bien sûr_. Just turn on your monitor."

Rick's screen lights up on the image of a graying man holding a microphone just beyond what looks like a crime scene. He can't make out much of what he is saying except that there's something about a motorcycle, an explosion, a death, and money. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. With any luck, there will be a story or at least a post that he can run through a translation function. Rick finds one almost immediately from someone who posted a grotesque picture taken before the police arrived, and takes a screen capture even as he grimaces at the gore: a chest blown apart under a coating of confetti. Two bodies in two days. He can't help wondering if the bizarre death is related to the demise of the tunnel-dwelling eavesdropper. Other than one event coming on the heels of the other, Kate would be quick to point out that there's no reason to assume there's a connection. But Rick has a gut feeling the deaths are linked.


	54. Chapter 54

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 54

Lanie can't recall shopping for clothes - or anything - this way. She and Kate are both seated in sleekly upholstered chairs while models parade gowns in front of them. The problem is that the models look more like Kate than the bride to be. They are tall, and thin with no more than a "B" cup. Farley enjoys having something to get his wide palms around, and Lanie isn't about to lose any of it or rein it in.

Kate gazes at the clasped hands and tight lips of her friend. "Not your style?"

Sighing, Lanie shakes her head. "No way any of those would look right on me, Kate, no matter what kind of alterations they make. My girls need room to breathe."

Kate presses her fingers to her lips. "There's a place that might be better for you. Martha said she took Alexis there when she started to blossom - like you did. They specialize in more voluptuous silhouettes. Alexis was there to find formal dresses for some of the charity galas she attended with Rick, but they do make wedding gowns."

Lanie springs from her seat. "Bring it on, girlfriend!"

The Salon Cecile is more welcoming than modern. Its chairs have enough padding for comfort - as do the models. The dresses are all beautifully designed, and Lanie could wear any one of them, but none of them matches her dream until a model just her height takes her turn around the room. The skirt that flows over her generous hips flatters, rather than exaggerates and the bodice shows a tantalizing but tasteful hint of cleavage. Visions of passage down the aisle on her father's arm dance before Lanie's eyes. "That's the one!"

After Lanie's measurements are carefully taken for the house seamstresses to produce a muslin for an exact fitting, she realizes that while they're in the right place for her, there's nothing for Kate.

Kate forgoes the idea of returning to the site of their first gown parade in favor of Madam Claire Marie. The madam's models are again, taller and slimmer, but the dresses are simpler. Having endured six turns as a bridesmaid, Kate has a good idea about what her dress should be. It must be attractive, but the color and design subtle enough as not to distract from the bride. That takes red, black, and most of the jewel tones off the table. And if she can wear her choice somewhere other than Lanie's wedding, that would be a definite plus.

The gown on the fourth model grabs her attention. The amber shade is warm but not showy and will skim rather than overly emphasize her curves. She locks eyes with Lanie, who gives her nod of approval.

* * *

Using his thumb and forefinger to zoom in on parts of his screen capture of the motorcycle murder scene, Rick studies the buildings in the background. They wouldn't be tourist attractions unless one had a fetish for the drab – but that would make them just the place for anyone who preferred to go unnoticed - like a murderer or terrorist cell.

The authorities haven't released any details about the explosive device, but Rick wouldn't have expected them to compromise their investigation by revealing much. One thing that strikes him is a similarity to the bomb that was set off at De Gaulle. The explosions were both small, producing an effect without destroying a great deal around them. If the would-be motorcycle rider hadn't been so close, his death might not have been as dramatic.

Rick wonders if there could be a connection between the two incidents. They took place on either side of the death of the blind data-seller he and Kate found in the tunnels. Could that man have been the link?

His mind spins scenarios. Suppose the organization that planted the bomb at the lost property desk had been detected by the underground eavesdropper and the man who'd been blown apart had been a messenger or a go-between. Rick's not sure how all the pieces fit - if they fit at all - but there's a story somewhere. He's determined to figure out what it is. But first, he has a book reading.

Rick can't understand every word of the French translation of "Heat Wave," but he knows the story well enough to deliver it with an intensity that entrances his audience. Much like those in the United States, his fans, mostly women, enthusiastically queue up to get their books signed. By the time he's finished, his hand is cramping, and he's anxious to return to the Paris rental and bounce his theory off Kate.

* * *

Jake's eyes are riveted to the stage. Even in rehearsal, with players occasionally stumbling on lines, and technical glitches, he is wholly transfixed. He'd love to tell Martha immediately, but the cast gathers while the director gives notes. Why Martha would need any, Jake can't imagine, but she stays through the process like the rest of the players before finally meeting up with him as he waits in the lobby of the theater. "Jake, have you ever been to a tech rehearsal before? All those pauses to make sure the lighting and the sound were right must have seemed tedious."

Jake can't stop gazing at the earnestness shining from the blue of her eyes. "It wasn't tedious, it was fascinating! The few times I've managed to see shows, I never considered everything that goes into making the magic. And you were wonderful!"

"I was in pretty good voice tonight," Martha admits. "But my timing coming downstage on 'Here comes Rose,' was off a beat. Ah well, that is what rehearsals are for. We all need every moment to perfect our craft."

"It looked pretty perfect to me," Jake swears. "But you must be tired. I know a little pub not too far from here where you could relax and get a drink. The food's pretty good too, and it has an old jukebox full of show tunes."

"I know the place," Martha acknowledges. "The owner truly appreciates the theater - and he keeps his best wine under the bar. His taste is almost as good as Richard's."

Jake extends his elbow, beaming. "Then let's find out what he's stashed away."

The pub is quiet when Jake and Martha arrive, and a husky young man finishes up repairs on the jukebox before sauntering up to the bar. "That should do it, Sean. Got a cold one?'

"For you, Johnny, always. I think you're the only one in New York who knows how to fix the damn thing."

Johnny takes a healthy slug from the chilled bottle that Sean hands to him. "I know how to talk to it - and I have a cousin with a machine shop to make the parts I can't find. So anyway, you'll tell Sharon I was here?"

"She'll be sorry she missed you, but she should be in for the lunch rush tomorrow. She'll want to make you your favorite."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Johnny declares, and strolls past the jukebox where Jake is looking at the selections, on his way out. "That should be working fine for you. Just don't put in any Canadian money. It gets caught in the return slot."

"I'll make sure that I don't" Jake promises, examining the change he pulls from his pocket. Inserting a quarter he presses the buttons for a selection from Oklahoma, wondering if Martha still can belt out "I can't say no."


	55. Chapter 55

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 55

"Babe, are you serious?" Kate exclaims. "I get your curiosity about the body we found but tying everything to terrorists? Even for your imagination, that's stretching it. If you're wrong, you'd be wasting our time in Paris, but if you're right, something a lot worse than finding a body could happen."

Rick stares at the floor, shuffling his feet. "I know, Kate, but there's a story here. I can feel it in my bones. Look, I don't want to do anything dangerous, just check public records for the ownership of the buildings near where the motorcycle rider got blown up. If I don't find anything, I'll let it go."

"Promise?" Kate demands skeptically.

"I won't have much choice, will I? Checking out that area is the only thing I can do to find a clue. But I could use your help," he admits, letting his eyes plead his case.

"Damn it, Rick! You do a puppy dog look better than Custos does. All right, I'll help you with the records, but then you're done sticking your nose into the case."

"I hear that," Rick responds meekly.

* * *

"This is the last building on your list," Kate points out. "All the ones we've looked at so far have either been in families for generations or are owned by well-established companies."

Rick shakes his head, then rakes the hair that falls on his forehead away from his eyes. "You don't have to remind me. So who does it belong to?"

Kate stares at the official document on her screen. "I'm not sure what this means. Maybe we can get Manon to translate. She'll be back in the morning."

"I can't wait that long," Rick protests. "Get a screen capture of the part you don't understand and text it to me. I'll email it to Gaston and Alexis. She's off at a youth soirée tonight with some kids she met at the Science Museum. One of them should be able to tell us what it means."

"Fine," Kate agrees, "but unless you get an answer that leads somewhere, we're done with this. Besides that, Lanie's here, and I haven't talked to her since we started your little scavenger hunt."

"You're right," Rick admits, "That's no way to treat our guest. We should grab Callie, and all go to dinner somewhere. How do we figure out which French restaurants are good and family-friendly?"

Kate flashes a cat-with-the cream smile. "Manon already gave me a list."

* * *

Jake isn't crazy about getting on a plane back to California, but Russo's lawyer pushed for a trial and Jake will have to testify about the chain of custody. He hates leaving town when he seems to be forming some kind of relationship with Martha. He has no idea what his next step will be, or even if he'll have one, but it's a bad time to have to take off.

At least he'll have company on the plane. Terry will be going too, to explain his analysis to the jury. They managed to get almost adjacent seats with some halfway decent legroom, across the aisle from each other in business class. The trip shouldn't be too uncomfortable, and they will have a layover in Las Vegas to change planes. It won't be long enough for it to make sense to leave the airport and have to go back through security, but there will be time to grab a meal that doesn't come wrapped in plastic.

Jake might even play a machine or two. He's not much of a gambler, but he's been to Foxwoods and Atlantic City a few times and enjoyed trying his luck with a limited stake. He even scored a small jackpot on a poker machine. McCarran Airport is almost one big casino. He can try a few rounds while he's waiting for his flight.

Bells and whistles echo through the terminal gates as Jakes stares in disbelief at the machine he's playing. A royal flush - a royal flush worth $5,000! He doesn't usually bet the maximum amount, preferring to stretch out his play, but he was almost at the end of the funds he'd decided he could lose without doing much damage to his wallet, so he decided to wager all of the last of them. He looks around as a supervisor makes his way to the flashing machine. "Sir, we'll need to get your identification and your tax information before we can pay off."

Jake checks his watch. "I don't have much time until I have to board my flight."

"I understand sir, that's usually the case around here. But we'll make it as quick as possible."

Jake slides off the stool he's been sitting on to play. If there's one thing he always has in an airport; it's plenty of I.D."

Terry gazes down the aisle as Jake puffs his way through the plane. "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

Jake shoves his duffle into the overhead storage bin and sinks into his seat. "Neither was I. I think they make you fill out that much paperwork to discourage you from getting too lucky. But we won't have to worry about the OOTC _per diem_ when we get to Long Beach. I'm going to buy us one heck of a dinner."

* * *

Rick is pondering his choice between a Mont Blanc and an opera cake when his phone chimes. "That's Alexis." He scrolls through the email from his older daughter. "Some of the students she's with helped her figure out what was on that document. She says it's listed as belonging to an enterprise _individuelle_. That's like a sole proprietorship in the U.S. You don't need much to register one with the government, just proof of address, proof of identity and French Healthcare."

"Couldn't someone fake that?" Kate wonders.

Castle shrugs. "Maybe. But she put an interesting note on it. If the person who starts a company like that is married, then their spouse must provide written proof that they are aware of the risks of the debt the company might incur. There has to be a paper trail for that, right?"

Kate sighs. "I was hoping you'd tell me that the building was owned by a little old lady from Versailles who only visits it on Sundays. So if you track down any spouse and the company is legit, you'll give up on chasing down your imagined terrorist conspiracy?"

"I will," Rick concedes, "but we still have some work to do - and we'll need proper fortification. So what do you ladies think? The Mont Blanc or the opera cake?"

"The _profiteroles_ looked scrumptious," Lanie suggests. "How about those?"

"And you could use that ice cream filling to cool you down a little," Kate adds.

Rick slides sideways in his seat, nudging her with his hip. "Since when did you want me to cool down? We are in a city for lovers, and I thought you enjoy the heat." Lanie coughs and clears her throat. "Family restaurant, guys."

"You're right," Rick concedes sheepishly. "Except for Callie, _profiteroles_ all around?"

"I'm in," Lanie agrees.

Kate slips her arm behind Rick and grabs a handful of muscle just beneath his back pocket. "Sure, you behave yourself now, and we'll see about warming things up again, later."

Rick runs his hand along her thigh under the table. "Is that a promise?"

Kate presses her lips against his ear and whispers, "_Oui_."

A/N Chapter 8 of my The Rookie story, "The Way Back," is posted.


	56. Chapter 56

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 56

The bed in the Paris rental isn't as wide or long as the one in the master bedroom at the loft, but that just provides extra motivation to snuggle. Not that Rick needs any. Kate's been patient, if reluctant, in helping him track down the owner of the enterprise _individuelle_. He tried to find something questionable about the proprietor and his apparently willing wifely partner, Yanick and Jacqueline Bisson. They have, from all accounts, lived ordinary lives and are eking out a living selling refurbished appliances.

Convinced - or almost convinced - that his imagination was just that, Rick eagerly takes Kate in his arms, the satin of the nightdress that skims her thighs, warm against his skin. Her mouth is sweet with toothpaste and the faint remnants of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup. As his palms cradle her jaw, deepening their kiss, silken strands brush the tips of his fingers, sending a tingle of arousal up his arms.

Kate pushes against his body, her heat palpable even through the thin silken barrier between them. Her legs circle his thighs, ankles linked behind him. The fullness of his excitation grows as Kate rubs against it, and a moan rises in her throat.

Rick doesn't want to hear the insistence of his cell phone. Whoever it is should give up and try again in the morning, but the chimes hammer on his consciousness, refusing to stop. With a groan, he reaches toward the nightstand.

As his eyes focus, Rick immediately recognizes Gaston's number. "It's a bad time - a very bad time," he grumbles.

Gaston's voice pours urgently through the speaker. "Richard, I'm sorry. Beatrice and Patrice were with Nicole's parents, but a water pipe broke in the street. Repairs are not expected to be completed for two days. Nicole and I brought everyone back to stay with us. I've only just had a chance to check my messages. Yannick Bisson, the owner of the enterprise _individuelle_, and his wife have been on the intelligence radar for months. They are part of a rising fascist group that supports the _Vestes Pourpres_. They are dangerous, _mon ami_. The DGSI suspects that they have been using the importation of used appliances as a cover for obtaining explosives. As yet the group has not been confirmed as responsible for any terrorist acts, but there are indications."

"Like indications that might have come from a data-gatherer like the man whose body Kate and I found?"

"It is possible," Gaston admits. "What caused you to make the link?"

Rick looks down at his wife. "What Kate calls the mice in my brain. Look, can we meet in the morning - early? I have an interview at 10. I'll outline the whole thing for you to pass on to the DGSI or whatever directorate needs to know."

"Very well, _mon ami_. But if you have been asking questions, take care. News can travel, and the _Vestes Pourpres_ are not fond of meddling in their business."

* * *

Louis Babin paces the scuffed floors of the appliance shop that has become the headquarters for the _Vestes Pourpres_, waiting for _l'commandant_ Albert Denis to arrive. The leader had sounded annoyed that a junior member like Louis contacted him, but less so when Louis told him about the American girl who had been asking questions. Denis promised to come as soon as he could to give Louis a full debriefing. That was hours ago.

Louis downed most of a bottle of wine, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. The last thing the _Vestes Pourpres_ needs is Americans sticking their noses into its business. Keeping their secrets from the directorates is hard enough without foreigners blundering their way into things. He hears the distinctive jingle of the metal rings on the high boots Denis affects. Soon enough, the Americans will no longer be Louis' problem. No doubt Denis will take what Louis learned up the ladder, perhaps even to the top. The greedy Jacque Henri may not be the only one to receive an unpleasant and very deadly surprise.

* * *

Gaston's eyes motion Rick to join him at his table toward the rear of the café, where there are already two cups of dark coffee and a basket of croissants. "From the beginning, please, Richard."

Rick takes a sip from his cup before he explains about connecting the small but effective explosions.

"Quite a leap, my friend," Gaston observes, "but quite possibly in the right direction. The explosives used in both incidents left very little residue to analyze."

"And the breakdown chemicals wouldn't reveal much," Rick adds.

"Indeed," Gaston acknowledges nodding. "But the components of the devices were similar and possibly identical. And the size of the charges was about the same too, meant to affect a minimal radius. The _Vestes Pourpres_ would have little to gain taking responsibility for a bomb at De Gaulle."

"But everything to gain by throwing suspicion on immigrants." Rick surmises.

"_Précisément_," Gaston agrees. "But the directorates don't have any proof that is the case. No doubt the _Vestes Pourpres_ will do all they can to keep it that way - including taking out anyone who might be gathering it. That appears to be clear enough."

"Kate and I were just hapless hikers who stumbled on a dead body. That seemed to be the opinion on all the newscasts." Rick offers. "I don't see why the _Vestes Pourpres_ or the Bissons would think we posed any danger to them. I'm doing a book tour, and Kate is playing tourist and helping a friend prepare for a wedding. Alexis is just a student. I doubt bombers will consider oblivious Americans worth their notice."

"Just the same," Gaston cautions, "stay alert."

"Where the safety of my family is concerned," Rick assures him, "you can count on it."

* * *

Jake's and Terry's testimony went faster than they had anticipated. In the men's room, Jake heard snatches of conversation between the bailiff and clerk about the judge's anxiousness to go on vacation. That might have accounted for her brusque responses to objections from the defense counsel. Whether the judge was anxious to hit the road or not, Jake and Terry will be returning to New York as soon as they can get a flight. There aren't any to be had out of Long Beach, but they can catch one out of L.A. The single stop will be in Chicago, not Las Vegas, but that's fine with Jake. He's not about to push his luck.

Even with supplementing the expenses that OOTC allows for dining, he still has the bulk of his $5,000 left. It's more than enough to buy even the highest priced ticket on the White Way, and he intends seeing Martha in all her glory without interruptions. After that, if she's willing, he can take her out again, someplace spectacular. He knows she wouldn't expect it from him, which will make it that much sweeter. Having spent a large part of his life supporting a family on a cop's salary, he's not even sure what place that would be. If Rick were around, he could ask him, but with the Beckett-Castles overseas, he'll figure it out on his own. Well, as he's claimed often enough, research is his forte. If he has to read every restaurant guide and review, he'll find the perfect place. If Martha agrees to go with him, he knows he'll have the ideal companion.


	57. Chapter 57

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 57

Rick is accustomed to makeup chairs. He's been in them since "In a Hail of Bullets" hit the best-seller list while he was still in college. Even before that, he couldn't have been the son of Martha Rodgers without being schooled in all aspects of her craft. So, when his facial touch up for "_Bonjour Paris"_ starts, he feels something is off.

For one thing, the woman preparing to add color to his skin doesn't stick the tissue sheets around his collar to protect his shirt, and the way she holds her brush is clumsy. The powder she dips it in doesn't look right either. He springs out of his chair, pulling his phone from his pocket. "How about if we memorialize this moment in a selfie?"

The faux crew member drops her brush and runs toward the nearest emergency exit. A fire alarm sounds as Rick catches the eye of a security guard and points out the door. The fleeing fake stumbles as the heel of her shoe catches in a crack in the pavement, allowing the guard to overtake her. She struggles in his grasp, her eyes flashing at Rick who followed. "_Tu es mort_!"

Rick shakes his head. "I'm not dead yet."

* * *

Kate wraps her arms around Rick's neck, and they stand motionless just holding each other in the doorway of their temporary Paris home. I'm fine," he murmurs.

"What did the police say?" Kate asks.

Rick shrugs, as they move inside. "Not much that I could understand, but their people took samples of the powder that would have been on my face, to analyze."

"There are a number of poisons that can penetrate the skin," Lanie remarks. "They usually work better with a liquid carrier like DMSO, but there are some nasty things, like organo-mercury compounds that could contaminate a powder. Writer Boy, you were probably lucky as hell that you didn't let that woman touch you with whatever it turns out to be."

There are a few advantages to being the son of a diva," Rick agrees. "Mother has always been very discerning about what and who she'd let touch her skin. Some of it must have rubbed off. What I can't figure out is how _Vestes Pourpres_ realized I was on to them. Outside of the people here and Gaston, I haven't talked to anyone about my theory."

"I think I might know," Alexis admits softly, her eyes on the floor. "Remember I told you other students were helping me figure out what was in the screen capture you sent me? There was one; I think his name was Louis, who was hanging around the edges of our group. He looked nervous, and he disappeared while I was emailing you back. It didn't mean anything to me then, but he had a 'PV' pin on his collar."

"Then they could come after any of us," Rick realizes. "There are police outside, but we should all get out of here. I'm going to find whatever hotel has the best security in Paris, someplace with limited access floors that thoroughly scrutinizes their employees."

"You should cancel your Black Pawn events, too," Kate suggests.

"Not yet," Rick responds. "I don't have any more today or tomorrow. The police identified the woman they caught as Jacqueline Bisson. They, or the directorates or whoever will be questioning her, may be able to get enough out of her to take the group down. Right now they are most likely in disarray. That will give us our chance to settle into our stronghold and plan our next moves. When do you ladies have dress fittings?"

The sudden change of subject throws Lanie. "What?"

"Salon Cecile predicted they'd be ready for a fitting of the muslin dry run for Lanie's gown in a few days," Kate answers. "Madam Clair Marie's shop just needed to make minor alterations on my dress. I'm supposed to be able to pick it up any time after tomorrow."

"Good," Rick nods. "With luck, we may be able to keep things on schedule. So if you will all excuse me, I have some research to do concerning the local hospitality industry."

Lanie watches Rick retreat to the next room with an open mouth. She turns to Kate. "How does he do that? How do both of you do that?"

"Do what?" Kate asks.

"Treat having killers after you like a scheduling problem."

"Probably because if we had a meltdown every time someone tried to take us out, we'd have been puddles on the floor a long time ago. But you can be sure of one thing; Rick will move heaven and earth to make sure no one can get to Alexis or Callie or you or me or anyone he cares about. I wouldn't be surprised if armed guards came with whatever luxury suite he books, but the food and wine will still be exceptional. We won't need anyone to be with Callie, there. We won't be going out anytime soon. I should call Manon and tell her she'll have some time off, away from the house. She charged a flat fee for her services while we're in France, so she won't lose anything. I hope Callie doesn't miss her too much."

* * *

"I think you'd better see this," Rita says, handing Hunt a binder containing the latest overseas security alerts.

Hunt flips through the pages, quickly skimming the text. "France? Richard and the family are in France."

"Keep reading," Rita urges.

"The _Vestes Pourpres_ tried to kill my son? What the hell? Looks like that boy is too curious for his own good."

"He's hardly a boy, Hunt, and he's obviously inherited your eye for obscure details. He put two and two together and got an insight into some pretty lethal folks. Jacque Henri was killed."

"Uh, huh, I see that. He and I crossed paths a couple of times. The French government used him when they didn't want to get their hands dirty. He never cared what he did, just who would pay him the most. He was always trying to play both ends against the middle. Looks like he miscalculated this time. No loss to the world."

"But Richard and the rest of your family would be. What are you planning to do about it?"

"Take the next transport to France and hope I don't have to spend the flight in a cargo net. Go with me?"

"I'm your wife, Hunt. They're my family now too. I'll see what I can do about getting us a plane with seats."

Hunt leans in for a quick kiss. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

* * *

Kate casts a careful eye around the suite that Rick arranged at Le Jardin des Roses. A fine mesh is embedded in the windows, blocking any microwave transmissions. The panes are dual-layered, glass on the outside, polycarbonate on the inside - not bulletproof but bullet resistant. They're also wired against intrusion, as is the door. Rick said that the rooms on their floor are often occupied by foreign leaders of questionable popularity with their constituents. She doesn't doubt it and doesn't even want to think about what the place costs. But when it comes to protecting her and the girls - and Martha when she's been around - Rick's never cared about the price. Kate loves him even more for that.

If the leather-bound menu is anything to go by, she was right about the cuisine. There are no prices listed. She suspects that if you have to ask, you can't afford it. Right now she's more interested in comfort food than fine dining. The hotel does offer _macaroni au fromage_. Macaroni and cheese will be a good start.


	58. Chapter 58

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 58

"_Je suis innocent_!" Jacqueline Bisson proclaims to hard-eyed interrogator Abel Becquel. "I know nothing about Richard Castle. I was called in to replace a make-up artist who didn't show up for her assignment."

"The make-up artist whose body was found in the Seine two hours ago?" Becquel inquires.

"I know nothing about that either," Jacqueline insists, "only that I received a call."

"You received a call," Becquel repeats. "Your business, or perhaps only your official business, is selling appliances. Why would you be called to replace a makeup artist?"

"I spent a year at Cours Florent. I had some instruction in the art." Jacqueline replies.

"Some instruction in the art?" Becquel retorts. "'Bonjour Paris' had a replacement with ten years of experience on call. No one would have had any reason to summon you."

"It must have been part of a plot," Jacqueline declares. "Those Muslims will go to any lengths. _Le Figaro_ reported that Monsieur Castle was an incoming passenger when the bomb exploded at De Gaulle. Perhaps he was a target."

"Or perhaps he was your target because he perceived your organization was involved," Becquel suggests. "We know about your ties to _Vestes Pourpres_, Madame Bisson. The death of Jacque Henri by an explosive device similar to that employed at the airport took place almost on the doorstep of your business. The powder you attempted to apply to Monsieur Castle's face is being analyzed as we speak. We will trace it, and we will connect it to you. _De cela vous pouvez être sûr_."

Jacqueline spits on the table in front of Becquel. "I can be sure of nothing except that vermin are overrunning our country and you are doing nothing to stop it. There will come a day when you will look around and find that France is no longer France. Then you will realize that I and the others who have protested the deluge are patriots."

Becquel stands, glaring down at Jacqueline. "You, Madam, are no patriot. You are a terrorist and quite possibly a murderer. That, the French people will never tolerate."

* * *

"Wheels down in five, Mr. Hunt," the co-pilot reports, from the door of the cockpit.

To Jackson, the young man looks barely old enough to be out of diapers, but he nods at the estimate. Rita touches his arm. "Have you come up with a plan yet?"

"I want to make sure Richard and the family are in a secure location, before I do anything else," Hunt responds. "If he's acting along his normal lines, they will be someplace nice - very nice."

"Is that a little jealousy in your tone?" Rita teases. "Would you have preferred a life of tours of five-star hotels to assignments in caves and remote villages?"

Jackson laughs, shaking his head. "I probably would have been bored out of my mind on that kind of a steady diet, but it might have made for a nice change of pace once in a while. There was a place in Panama and one in Dubai where I wouldn't have minded spending more time. But I don't begrudge Richard his wealth. He earned it. He's still earning it. I read his latest book. My son does have a knack for putting interesting characters on the page."

"As opposed to his father, who has one for becoming interesting characters. So what will it be this time? Terrorism consultant? Special Envoy? Cornflakes salesman?"

"That last one was fun on that mission to Africa," Hunt recalls, "but I think my consultant legend will work here. I can get the embassy to back me up on my credentials to investigate potential attacks on American citizens, Richard among others. That will give me a basis to be read in on any intelligence our people don't already have. It will also give me an excuse to talk to Richard if I need to."

"Are you sure you should do that?" Rita asks. "After Volkov, he has to understand why you had to break ties. You shouldn't pick at scabs."

"I'll only contact him if there's no other choice," Hunt assures his wife, "but I'll be keeping an eye on the family."

Rita leans her head on his broad shoulder. "I wouldn't doubt that for a second."

* * *

Analyst George Descartes examines the readout from his spectrometer. The pattern of peaks looks familiar for an insecticide - or a nerve agent. The chemical structures have much in common. The computer hasn't yielded a precise match - and it would have for a substance intended to kill pests. The ones designed for agricultural and home use are tightly regulated.

A nerve agent is more likely, but the computer network hasn't spit out a match to one of those from its database either. A derivative, perhaps, intended to function in tiny amounts in dry form. A new chemical weapon will be a headache for at least four directorates but is outside his responsibilities to explore further. He'll pass the data he has up the ladder, and the appropriate agencies can work out the compound's origin and threat level.

* * *

Rick joggles Callie as he paces across the plush carpeting in his suite at Jardin des Roses. The baby is restless, and he can't blame her. So is he. He wishes that he and Kate had brought Callie's swing. He's tasked the concierge with getting one, but it hasn't arrived yet.

Alexis was able to keep her sister amused for a while. Unwilling to let her skills lapse from lack of practice, she brought her violin. Whether the music would have soothed a savage breast, Rick has no idea, but it did fascinate the infant. Rick resolves that when he has the chance, he'll explore the extensive array of possible additions to Callie's collection of musical toys. He's already seen an ad on French TV for a flexible piano that babies can play with their feet. He asked the concierge to track one of those down too. If Callie inherited her mother's talent to deliver a good kick, she and Alexis might soon be playing duets.

When Callie giggles, Rick deduces that it's a response to the grumbling protests emanating from his belly. Despite the superior quality of the food turned out in a world-famous kitchen, he hasn't felt like eating much. He hates that he's entangled his family, not to mention Lanie, in this mess.

Rick could easily blame the threat from a murderous Russian spy on his father. But this situation is entirely of his own making. He wanted to take Kate to the catacombs. He stuck his nose into the motorcycle murder, and he insisted on finding a way to link what he could have just passed off as disparate events. The fact that his assumptions appear to have been on the nose gives him little comfort. Being right and being dead, or worse, putting your loved ones in the line of fire is nothing to celebrate.

Even so, he can't stop questions from banging around inside his head. How deep and how far do Jacqueline Bisson's connections go? How would she have obtained whatever was in that makeup? Would it have killed him or just given him a nasty rash? OK, a rash wouldn't have sent her running, but being a tendril in a large operation with deadly intentions would. Just how far does what's going on in Paris extend and who is really behind it? The plotlines emerging fast and furious in his mind could make a great story, but he can't just hit save and quit writing for the night on this one. He'll have to depend on others to determine how it plays out. That's his most stomach-churning realization.


	59. Chapter 59

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 59

Jackson and Rita have a room a floor below the one that houses the Beckett-Castle suite. Hunt would have liked quarters on the same level, but his credentials would only get him so far. His top secret clearance makes him neither a celebrity nor a world leader.

He does the best he can to check out the security measures, noting that Richard's floor has its own elevator, accessible only with both a holographic security key and a code. He's noted armed guards on their way up and down, as well for shift changes and to accompany service staff. If the family stays put, it should be reasonably well protected. He just hopes Richard doesn't decide to do anything else stupid.

Rita managed to sweet talk one of her contacts into getting her a transcript of Becquel's interrogation of Jacqueline Bisson. Both she and Hunt came to the immediate conclusion that the woman is not the brightest of lights - more likely a useful idiot. Her husband, Yannick Bisson, wasn't questioned and has dropped from sight. That would make him smarter, scared, or both. In any case, Hunt needs to track down the Bisson connection to the network of fascist organizations making unfortunate inroads in Europe.

That will be easier when he gets his hands on all the details of the analytical results of the remnants of the explosive devices used at De Gaulle and on Henri. Anything he can learn about what Jacqueline tried to use on Richard will be helpful too. The various groups and cells have their signatures. He'll have to find a match. Hunt has no illusions that he can reverse an ideological tide on his own. The alphabet soup has its armies working on that. His mission is to destroy whatever tentacle is reaching into France via the _Vestes Pourpres_. If he manages to do some damage to the head of the monster, that will be the icing on the cake.

His next step is to make contact with the DGSI and obtain the data he needs. Despite his credentials and well-developed legend, if he bumps up against a bureaucrat, it may not be an easy task. The type of information he wants tends to be held in a tight fist. But he's faced situations like that before and handled them with a combination of charm and arm twisting. He can determine on the fly which proportion of each to use.

* * *

While Rick is absorbed with his laptop, Kate quietly takes a seat next to Lanie and tilts her head toward her oblivious husband. "Does he look all right to you?"

"Why? Do you think that crazy woman did something to him?" Lanie wonders. "His color is normal. I don't see any neurological signs. He looks fine – physically."

Kate leans in toward her friend. "What do you mean, physically?"

"After your years as a cop, I'd think you'd see it, girlfriend. The man is feeling guilty. He hasn't made any smart-ass comments. Half the time, his eyes are on the floor. He let you eat most of the Chateaubriand you were supposed to be sharing last night. The only time I saw that Castle grin is when he was watching Callie kicking the keys on that puff piano the concierge sent up. He's feeling responsible for getting us stuck in this suite -as incredible as it is - and probably helpless too because he can't do anything about it."

"He and I have the helpless part in common," Kate admits. "I'd rather be out there kicking the ass of whoever tried to go after him. So what do I do?"

"Talk to him, or do a little more than talk. Make sure he knows you're in this together."

"I'll do that," Kate agrees, squeezing her friend's hand. "Thanks."

"No problem. If I'm going to follow in your steps down the aisle, I need to keep you on track."

* * *

_Mademoiselle_ Serat seems so firmly ensconced behind her desk that Hunt wonders if a seal pops when she gets up. "_Monsieur_ Moss, the DGSI is not in the habit of turning over intelligence or analytical results to American consultants. Your credentials, however, are extraordinary. I have been instructed to cooperate fully with you," she continues, handing him a thumb drive, "despite any personal misgivings I might have. I've given you what we have on _Vestes Pourpres_, the Bissons as well as our laboratory reports. The information is, of course, encrypted. To preserve security, I have sent the key to James Aldicot at your embassy. You can obtain it from him."

"_Merci, Mademoiselle_ Serat," Hunt replies, working to keep the edge out of his voice. "I will contact him immediately."

* * *

Deputy Chief of Missions Jim Aldicot emerges from an office to meet Hunt as soon as the Marines let him into the Embassy building. "Jackson, I gather you've gotten yourself tangled up in DGSI red tape. Not your usual style. But then this isn't your usual type of assignment."

"It's not really an assignment at all Hunt confides. "The company is giving me my head because they're not crazy about what's crawling out of the woodwork around here, but this is family business."

"Oh yes, your son, best-selling author and Sophia's former protégé, or whatever he was. He seems to have stepped in it this time."

"He has," Hunt agrees. "But since he uncovered the rats' nest, I'll be playing exterminator. Did _Mademoiselle _Serat send you the code?"

"She did - unwieldy damn thing. Looks like she used a standard random number generator. Low tech and pain in the ass but usually effective. I put it on a memory card for you. That should simplify things. But listen, Jackson, there's been more chatter in the last couple of hours. The honchos above the _Vestes Pourpres_ splinter group are regarding the Bissons and the whole group as compromised. They're scrambling to cover any trail that exists between them and French operations. Whatever you're planning to do, you'll have to do fast."

Hunt closes his eyes, shaking his head. "I was afraid that would happen. I'm ready to pull on whatever threads are left.

* * *

From behind Rick's chair, Kate wraps her arms around his neck. "Deep into writing your story?"

He reaches up to grasp her hand. "Not really. I've rewritten the same page, six times. I have a killer using a bomb, a lot like the one that killed the motorcycle rider but I can't get the details right. I wish I could have found out exactly how that one worked - the type of explosive - the triggering mechanism - something."

"Maybe we can figure it out together," Kate proposes. "How about the other clue? His body was covered in bits of paper. From the pictures, some of it looked like pieces of euros."

"That's right!" Rick exclaims, snapping his fingers. "The _Vestes Pourpres_ must have paid him off, but they used the old trick of putting real money around stacks of paper cut to size. They detonated the blast before Henri could figure out he was taken and go back with his gun blazing. The whole device, including the explosive, couldn't have been very big - we knew that. But it must have been small and flat enough to fit inside a pack of phony cash. There are detonators made to do that with real money. They set off the dye packs that mark bank robbers. Booyah! I can make this work now. Thanks for diving into this with me."

Kate rests her chin on the top of his head. "Babe, whatever happens, I'll always be right there with you."


	60. Chapter 60

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 60

Yannick tries to work the stiffness out of his back. Napping on the emergency cot in the small warehouse that he uses to store his imported goods was far from comfortable, but at least he's not in the hands of the _flic_. Fortunately, an associate - now deceased - had purchased the building and the ownership had never been officially transferred to the Bissons.

The DGSI could track him down eventually, but he'll have time to work out his exit from France before they can gear up their efforts. Normally he could go anywhere in the EU without much difficulty, but after Jacqueline's capture, he suspects there will be alerts out for him across borders. He needs refuge in a nation that will be somewhat less cooperative but from where he can easily communicate with his superiors. He'll be heading to Liechtenstein. The banking facilities there couldn't be better, and he can take up lodgings not far from the organization's headquarters in Austria.

If he's careful about how he makes contact, he can get transportation on the small plane that brought in the explosive used by _Vestes Pourpres,_ and the nerve agent that would have taken out Richard Castle if Jacqueline hadn't bungled the operation so badly. He shakes his head. That is what happens when you marry a useful idiot. Eventually, she ceases to be useful. She's on her own now. She can't reveal much more to the authorities than they could discover independently, given recent events. Whatever becomes of her is a penalty for her stupidity. No matter. The organization keeps women for the amusement of the faithful, and he has been that.

* * *

Rita is acting as a second pair of eyes as Hunt goes over the contents of the thumb drive he received from Mademoiselle Serat. Details of molecular structures don't jump out at him, but Rita started her college career as a chemistry major, before taking up more esoteric pursuits.

She studies the reports on the explosive and nerve agent carefully. "It looks like an extra group was grafted onto Tobun - old Soviet nerve gas - to make it solidify. Enough of it disappeared when the Soviet Union collapsed that this variation could have been made almost anywhere with decent lab facilities. The explosive is more promising. It's a variation of RDX, like C-4, but has a different plasticizer than I've seen in a plastic explosive before."

"Would that make it easier to mold into compact charges?" Hunt queries.

Rita taps the structure on the screen with her fingertip. "It could."

"Where would someone making the explosive get something like that?" Hunt wonders.

Rita's fingers fly over the keys of the laptop. "Let's find out."

"Not many listings," Hunt notes. "The factory in Austria would be my bet. The anti-immigrant sentiments caught fire faster there than in many other places in Europe."

"And the fascists slithered out from under their rocks to fan the flames," Rita adds. "My section of the intelligence alphabet keeps track of movements in that part of the world. If there's activity related to what's going on here, one of our analysts should have picked up on it. Given the international implications, I can put in a high priority query."

Hunt pecks a quick kiss to her temple. "Make it very high priority."

* * *

Jake's seat for Martha's premier isn't as good as the one he had for her rehearsal, but the tickets sold out so fast that he was lucky to get one at all. He stares into his closet, agonizing about what to wear - something he can't remember doing since his twenties. Maybe he should have bought a new suit. It's too late for that now. The shirt he'll be wearing for the first time was a Father's Day gift from his daughter. He'll iron out the creases caused by the cardboard packaging. The tie came from his grandchildren for his birthday, but he suspects strong parental influence guided its purchase. There aren't any flashing lights or comic book characters on it, just a single stripe.

When he arranged to have flowers sent to Martha's dressing room, he could barely figure out what to put as an accompanying message. "If you are half as good as you were in rehearsal you'll bring the house down," seemed inadequate, but he couldn't think of anything better. At least it was a step up from the "Best wishes," he usually writes on a card - on the rare occasions that he sends one.

The restaurant reviews he read had been so contradictory to each other that he picked an eatery from watching the Food Channel. One of the sous chefs in a cooking competition made something that looked so good and went over so well with the celebrity chef judges that Jake booked a table at the Red Queen, where the young competitor is employed. The name also fits red-headed Martha Rodgers - more or less. At least as far as Jake's concerned, she is the queen of the theater, if not a bloodthirsty one like Louis Carroll's character.

Jake checks his watch. It is hours before the show will be starting. It will seem like days.

* * *

Rick draws Kate close between the Egyptian cotton sheets Jardin des Roses provides for their VIP clientele. It felt terrific developing theory with her again, even if it was just for a chapter in his book. Dealing with terrorist activity on paper is safer, if less exciting. He's had more than enough of that kind of excitement. He did receive one pleasant surprise. He hasn't faced the wrath he expected from Black Pawn at having to put off some appearances. They've arranged some interviews to take place by phone. Their PR machine is spinning any delays of other events as the result of the thrilling real-life adventures of Richard Castle.

The source of all the thrills he needs is pressed against his side. He can feel her proximity starting to affect a more midline portion of his anatomy, but he'll let her make the first move. He's put enough on her already that if anything happens now, it should be because she needs it.

Kate throws her leg across Rick's thigh, rubbing herself against the firm muscle. His hands are gentle, almost tentative against the soft skin of her back, but she's not in the mood for gentle. Thrusting her hand up the leg of his shorts, her fingers wrap around his growing hardness, stroking it to full attention before straddling him.

Rick needs no more invitation. His hands seek her breasts, eager beneath the short filminess of her gown. She groans at his touch, rising to take him in. His breath is expelled in a gasp as she sheaths him. He grasps her hips, supporting her as she rides, eyes closed, hair untethered. She moans, reaching for herself. He displaces her hand, the trigger of her arousal hot beneath his fingertips. Kate's motion grows in abandon, the strands of her hair whipping between the air and her face.

Like being captured by a sudden riptide, they are swept away without warning, caught in the waves of passion's release. Rick tucks the top of Kate's head beneath his chin as she rests spent against his bare chest. They will fall into slumber now, their dreams inhabited by nothing but each other.


	61. Chapter 61

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 61

While the eyes of much of the audience are on the actress playing June - later to become Gypsy - Jake can see only Martha as Mama Rose. To him, she seems even more breathtaking than she had at rehearsal. After she's taken her last curtain call, he can't wait to tell her.

Getting to her dressing room isn't easy. If the security chief hadn't recognized him as the guest Martha vouched for at rehearsal, he would have never made it at all. He arrives to find Martha bothering to put only two bouquets of the many she's received, in water; the one he sent and one Rick must have ordered while he's in France. He can feel his chest expanding beneath the stiffness of his new shirt. "You were wonderful!"

"I had to be," Martha replies, clasping both of his hands. "Peter had a kidney stone attack, poor man. The understudy for Herbie dropped four lines, and I had to pick up the thread. Still, the audience reacted well."

"The audience gave you a standing ovation," Jake reminds her, "and the guy clapping the loudest was me. I wonder if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner. I have a reservation at The Red Queen."

"I have to give my congratulations to the rest of the cast and the crew before I go anywhere, and Joshua may have notes, but if you can wait that long, I'd love to have dinner with you, Jake."

He steals a surreptitious glance at his watch. When he booked the table, he allowed time for Martha to be besieged by fawning crowds, so if they leave within the next hour, they won't lose their spot.

* * *

The Red Queen is crowded with theatergoers by the time Jake and Martha arrive, but mercifully, the maître D' hasn't given their table away. Jake hopes that the bills he presses into the tuxedoed man's hand are enough to reward the courtesy.

In keeping with the theme, ruby goblets grace checkerboard tablecloths, and royal crests emboss the menus. The bill of fare is as Jake remembered viewing it online, including a dish similar to the one he'd seen the sous chef prepare on television. He can see Martha's eyes brighten as she studies the offerings. "I fast for clarity before opening night; I'm grateful you picked a restaurant that offers something substantial. I couldn't love inhabiting Mama Rose more, but it is draining."

"I can't even imagine what it takes to put on a performance like that," Jake, replies. "We can order appetizers à la carte or whatever it takes to get your energy back."

"It's fine dear. I'm sure the chef took great care in creating the courses that would complement each other in the dinners. Richard understands how to do that, but it is a skill I have not mastered."

"But you have so many others," Jake protests. "You can make hundreds of people happy just by coming onstage."

Martha lays her menu on the table. "That's a lovely thing to say, Jake, but let's get our order in so we can judge just how much talent resides behind the kitchen door."

Jake glances around to signal a server. "Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

"What do you want to do about Bisson?" Lieutenant Goff inquires of Leader Krieg.

"He knows too much about our operation, and the DGSI knows too much about him," Krieg replies. "That is an untenable situation. He must be removed."

"He asked to be transported to Liechtenstein," Goff reports.

"Then there will be a terrible tragedy. Some of the fuel stored on our private landing strip will explode while he is awaiting his plane."

"Regrettable, indeed," Goff agrees. "I will see to it."

* * *

"I just rechecked the chatter," Rita tells Hunt as he paces the floor of their room. "Yannick Bisson is dead. It happened at a private aircraft facility rumored to be used by a fascist group, Cleansing Storm, headquartered in Austria. And I received an answer to my query. There is a link between Cleansing Storm and the factory that produces the plasticizer used in the explosive that blew at De Gaulle and killed Jacque Henri."

"It all fits," Hunt declares. "Cleansing Storm has to be behind _Vestes Pourpres_. If we take them out we'll cut off support for operations in France. The DGSI can handle a mop-up operation. I'll make sure that Mademoiselle Serat receives the intelligence the DGSI needs."

Rita smiles, rolling her eyes. "She's not going to like that it comes from Laurence Moss."

Hunt flashes a Castle-like grin. "She won't like where her information comes from at all, but she'll do her job. Let's find out how fast we can make it to Austria to do ours."

* * *

"Was that Gaston?" Kate asks as Rick is still staring at his phone.

"It was," Rick confirms. "He said that Yannick Bisson is dead and operations are proceeding against the "_Vestes Pourpres_."

"So we're out of the line of fire?"

"Not until all the _Vestes Pourpres_ are rounded up. The DGSI already has all the records from the Bisson's building, and they'll be making simultaneous arrests to keep warnings from going out. The _Vestes Pourpres_ has connections outside France that the DGSE will be pursuing, but the DGSI will be cleaning up domestic operations. Gaston will let us know when there's an official all-clear. He doesn't think it will be very long."

Kate holds up two sets of crossed fingers.

* * *

Martha places her dessert fork across an almost empty plate. "That chocolate raspberry mousse cake was amazing. I admit that chocolate is a weakness for me."

"I wouldn't have thought you had any," Jake says.

"Obviously you haven't discussed the matter with my son, but I do my best to keep him grounded as well. If you don't admit your flaws, you can never experience growth."

"That's true," Jake acknowledges. "When I was a rookie, I had one hell of a training officer. Most of the cops at the station called him Hardass Hutton. He let me know about every mistake I made and rode me until I straightened out. I was resentful at first. I was 24, top of my class at the academy and pretty smug, but before a month had passed, doing what Hutton told me saved my life and the lives of four civilians including a little girl. After that, I realized I was too green to know what I didn't know. Hutton made me understand that I could never stop learning, whether it was new weapons or computer skills. He made me a better cop and probably a better man. I'll always be grateful to him for that."

"You are marvelous detective," Martha declares, "finding Lillian Price's killer. And Katherine speaks very highly of you, as does Roy Montgomery. You had to earn that."

Jake shuffles in his chair. "I hope I continue to earn it, and I hope I'm making a good impression with you."

Martha leans earnestly across the table. "You did that the first time I met you."

* * *

Hunt hands Rita the scope he's been using to look down on the headquarters of Cleansing Storm. He would have never established a base in that position, vulnerable to attack from higher ground, but a quick search told him that the location has history. The factory was originally a brewery. For access to fresh water, it was built along the Dornbirner Ach, a stream not far from the Liechtenstein border. The present owners have put security in place: an electrified fence and a cadre of jack-booted guards. Neither of these measures will protect the nest of vipers below from what Hunt has in mind. He lifts the missile launcher to his shoulder.


	62. Chapter 62

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 62

"I wasn't sure we'd ever make it here," Lanie admits as Kate helps her into the muslin prototype for her wedding gown. "But we're right on schedule."

"_Oui, Mademoiselle_," the seamstress chimes in as she examines the fit. "Except for the hem, we won't need further measurements. Since your gown doesn't require beading, its construction should be quite straightforward. We should have it ready in a few days."

"And we already have mine," Kate adds. "With Manon back and Rick spending his time catching up on Black Pawn business, we can play tourist."

Lanie beams as the seamstress begins marking her hem. "That's fantastic! I'd love to see the City of Science Alexis raved about and if we could make it to the ballet one night - but I know you want to see the Louvre."

"We can do all of it," Kate proclaims, and Rick and Alexis will probably want to go to the ballet with us. She'll love the music, and he'll appreciate great legs under short skirts."

"He married the right woman for great legs," Lanie notes. "I hope he appreciates that."

As the tip of her tongue flicks over her lips, Kate's mind drifts back to a shared early morning shower, and the loofah Rick stroked down her limbs. "Oh, he does."

* * *

Hunt shouldn't have been away from Duchess this long, but he can still feel the satisfaction of watching the headquarters of Cleansing Storm go up in a fireball. It won't be the end of toxic movements like that. It never is, but he and Rita managed to seriously hamper this one. That's worth something. The Austrians put out a cover story about a heart-rending industrial accident. It will take them a while to sort through the rubble, and they're still trying to identify just whose hearts were rent. Some useful intelligence may come out of that eventually, but Hunt won't be the one to follow up on it.

He's starting to put some of Rita's suggestions about training for female agents in place, concentrating on weapons that are easier to conceal on the feminine form. Rita had some solutions he'd never personally encountered but found fascinating. It revealed a whole new aspect of her creativity.

As soon as he gets things firmly in place at Duchess, he intends making another foray into the city. Rita is back in her apartment, and his family should be returning from France before too long, now that Richard is getting on with whatever writers on PR tours do. Hunt will keep his distance, but he's still hoping to catch as many glimpses of his granddaughters as he can.

* * *

Rick breathes in the heady scent of Shakespeare and Company - books old and new, and all wonderful. The bookstore has been in its spot across the bridge from Notre Dame Cathedral since before he was born and was the pleasantest of surprises to him the first time he visited Paris. He would have expected to see such a treasure trove of English literature in London, rather than the city of lights, and never fails to visit it when he's in France.

Today Rick has the honor of giving a reading in this hallowed destination of bibliophiles. He'll be reading in French, but it's a translation of a passage he knows by heart - not the oft-requested love scene, but the one where Heat kicks Rook in the jaw.

He remembers writing it after a day when Kate had been particularly prickly, poking him in the chest and grabbing his ear - which had actually hurt. Writing it helped him to convince himself that things could have gone a lot worse. At that time, being married to Kate wasn't even a wild dream. He hadn't been sure that he'd ever want to retake the plunge, no matter how beautiful and intriguing the woman.

How much things have changed! Now he can't picture his life without Kate or Callie, even if trouble still seems to dog their footsteps. He glances at his watch. His reading isn't scheduled to begin for more than an hour. The only trouble he'll get into now will be wanting to buy out half the store. Well, if he has to, he can easily arrange to have his finds shipped back to New York. He can even have a carpenter build another bookcase in the loft to house them. Kate won't mind. She loves books almost as much as he does. It's one of the things he loves about her.

* * *

Jake reads the note Martha sent him after their dinner at the Red Queen, for the 20th time, before going in to get his new assignment from Roy Montgomery. The ex-captain waves him to the chair in front of his desk. "This one could get bad, Jake."

"What could be worse than dead kids and grandmothers?" Jake asks.

Montgomery shakes his head. "It's not the details of the case, so much as who is involved. You remember that billionaire, Colin Broadhurst, who used to like to throw parties at his mansion with models - very young models?"

Jakes fingers involuntarily curl into fists. "I remember. Broadhurst had sex with at least 20 underage girls and invited his rich and influential friends to do the same. As I recall, he got off with less than a slap on the wrist - 13 months at a minimum security facility and they gave him so much work-release that he hardly spent any time at all behind locked gates. The whole thing stank to high heaven. He obviously spread money around in the right places and had someone very high up pulling strings for him. I remember wondering if he had compromising photos of the judge."

"I recall thinking exactly the same thing," Montgomery agrees. "I have two daughters, and after that, I barely wanted to let them out of the house. The case we have now may connect to what happened then. Our clients are Sasha and George Tolsen. They live just over the bridge in New Jersey.

"Their daughter Emily decided she wanted to go to a modeling school in New York City. From what the Tolsens told me, she was just supposed to be learning about hair, makeup, how to walk in heels, and that kind of thing. They thought it would be good for her self-confidence.

"Then, Emily started spending more and more time in New York. She told her parents that she'd made friends with some of the other girls at her school and they were going to the movies and parties together. Right around the time Broadhurst had a madam recruiting girls for him, Emily disappeared.

"The Tolsens checked with the modeling school and anyone else they could think of to try to find her. Missing Persons didn't have any better luck and wrote her off as a runaway. The Tolsens hired a private eye for months, but he didn't dig up anything either, and they couldn't afford to keep paying him. They'd already taken out a second mortgage on their house. But they never gave up hoping that they'd see her again. When they read about OOTC, they contacted us.

"I called Kate in Paris, and she told me to move Emily Tolsen to the front of the queue because of the possible implications on so many other cases. Many women over the years since Emily went missing have lodged complaints against Broadhurst, but they have all been quashed one way or another. If we can break Emily's case, we may be able to put an end to that once and for all. OOTC will back you with all the resources you'll need to give it your best shot."

A/N I have a new chapter of my The Rookie story, "The Way Back," posted.


	63. Chapter 63

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 63

Farley's long legs carry him swiftly up and down the tarmac at Teterboro as he awaits the arrival of the private plane bringing Lanie and the Castle family. Lanie had originally intended to take a commercial flight, but with everyone coming back to the states at the same time, it made more sense to return with her friends. If he knows her, she's also getting in some last minute cuddle time with Callie. If they are lucky enough to have children of their own, she'll be a wonderful mother.

When the plane finally touches down, a customs agent goes aboard before anyone is allowed to get off. Farley continues pacing until Lanie finally appears in the hatchway, and offers his hand to help her down the folding stairs.

She never lets go, preferring to wrap herself around him for a long-awaited kiss, while Kate and Rick smile down at them from the hatch until their path to disembark is clear.

The co-pilot begins unloading the luggage, with some help from Farley and Rick. Farley stows Lanie's suitcases in the trunk of his Optima while Lanie carefully hangs the garment bag holding her gown to drape across the back seat. The seamstress at the salon assured her that any wrinkles would steam out, but she's not willing to chance it.

A limousine with a trunk large enough to hold not only the Castle family luggage but Callie's baby gear pulls up, but Rick makes sure he recognizes the driver before he ushers his family inside. They've all had more than enough drama for a while.

* * *

Before the family retinue reaches the front door of the loft, Rick can hear Custos' familiar family yip inside. Miniver grins as she opens the door. I brought him back a little early. I thought he'd want to see you come home. Rick ruffles the dog's thick fur as Eduardo arrives from the lobby, bringing up their luggage and baby items on a cart. The doorman glances toward Kate, who's holding Callie. "Where do you want them, Ms. Beckett-Castle?"

Kate uses her head to gesture inside as Rick urges Custos, now also being petted by Alexis, out of the way. "Just set them down anywhere. We'll worry about putting them away later."

Kate sinks into a chair, kicking off her shoes. "Tired?" Rick asks. " I can get Callie settled. You didn't get much rest on the plane."

"I don't know how you manage to sleep so well in flight," Kate confesses, handing her daughter to her husband.

"Lots and lots of practice, which hopefully I won't get nearly as much of for a while. It is good to be home."

Alexis bounces toward the stairs to her room, carrying her violin, which she hadn't allowed to be packed anywhere. "I need to text my friends that I'm back so I can show them all the cool stuff I got in Paris."

"Ah, the exuberance of youth," Rick comments before heading off to the nursery. Callie coos and kicks her fuzzy-sleeper-clad legs. "Yes, I will find your piano for you," he assures the baby.

* * *

Jake pores over the newspaper coverage of Colin Broadhurst's arrest and plea deal. Considering that the man's previous adventures with the rich and famous had been all over magazine spreads and tabloids, there is remarkably little of it. Reporters noted the leniency of Broadhurst's sentence - some commenting that he would have received a harsher one if he'd merely been found with a bag of marijuana in his pocket. None of the articles had any information as to how the plea deal had been reached or why the judge had approved it.

Most of the paperwork had been sealed on the premise of protecting the privacy of minors, but the victims who had unsuccessfully tried to sue him in the years that followed had no interest in that kind of protection. They had been more than willing to expose Broadhurst's execrable activities, but somehow, the civil system had shielded the man as much as the criminal justice system had.

Jake can see only one reason why things could have gone that way - Broadhurst used his wealth and influence to twist arms and possibly blackmail anyone who would have let any suits or further prosecutions go forward. If Jake is going to get a handle on this, he'll be investigating prosecutors, judges and Broadhurst's operatives, more than the molester himself. If he can get to the people Broadhurst exerted his leverage on; he'll have a chance at uncovering the truth. Broadhurst may be an amoral psychopath, but everyone involved in the sordid affair can't be.

There has to be an opening somewhere, but as wide as Jake's search will have to be, he'll need all the help OOTC can provide. He can use Farley - at least until the man is close enough to his wedding to become totally useless. Lisa can be an asset too. She excels in digging beneath the surface. Now that Kate is back in New York, she may be of help also, and Rick could be especially useful. He moves in the kind of stratospheric circles that might have had contact with Broadhurst and possibly know who he would have been able to coerce.

Jake roughs out a plan to take to Roy and Kate so that his team can start uncovering whatever clues to what happened to Emily Tolsen there are. Hopefully, he can his thoughts down on paper before his date with Martha that evening. It's Monday, the one night of the week when most Broadway shows are dark, and the two of them are going out for Chinese food and a vintage movie at the Angelika.

* * *

Colin Broadhurst carefully works the combination of the safe at the rear of a walk-in closet in his sixty-four-room mansion on the Upper East side. He can feel his arousal growing as he spreads out pictures and jewel cases containing disks full of his library of images of young girls over the red velour spread on a nearby four poster bed. His fingertips caress the handwritten label on the disc he chooses - Emily T.

Of all of them, Emily was his favorite. What happened to her was a shame. He would have liked to have more fun with her, but things do happen - like his brief stint spending nights in the county jail. But that wasn't tough. His driver picked him up and took him to work six days a week, and his business didn't suffer. If anything, it increased. His clients could see just how much pull he had to receive such meager consequences for what would have sent any other man to prison for life. They couldn't wait to beg rides on his planes or stints on his private island.

He's too busy to spend much time there himself. He has billions, but there are always more to be made, and the greater his fortune, the more people want to kiss his ass. There's only one ass he's interested in right now. He carefully loads his disc into a player hooked to a widescreen tv - one of the curved ones that make the images almost 3-D. Colin shoves his pants down as Emily comes into view.


	64. Chapter 64

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 64

Rick flips open a box of cronuts in the center of the conference table where the Broadhurst task force is gathered. "What have we got so far?" Jake queries.

Lisa taps her pen on the yellow legal pad in front of her. "I checked out the judge, Risa Friedberg. Before the trial, she was close to being underwater on the mortgage to her house. Suddenly she managed to sell it for almost twice its appraised value and purchase another one free and clear. I'm checking into the buyer now, but I have to slog through the usual nest of shell companies."

"I have the attorneys for the victims," Farley offers, "They took the work pro bono and showed no large influxes of cash. As far as I can tell, the girls Broadhurst molested were kept in the dark about the plea deal."

Kate's palm smacks against the table. "That's illegal. If there's anything my mother was always talking about its victims' rights. Friedberg should have had an acknowledgment that they knew before she ruled on the deal."

"The U.S. attorney, Todd Alexander, who was prosecuting, kept it from everyone," Jake interjects. "After that, he went on to take a cushy seat on the board of a company for which Broadhurst controlled all the investments. Did you find out anything, Rick?"

"I talked to all the high rollers I could manage to get on the phone or meet at the Ears and Tail. That club is a very former haunt of mine," He adds quickly after a sharp glance from Kate. "All of them agreed on one thing. No one knows how Broadhurst got the money he used to start his fund. He came from a working-class family and dropped out of college twice. He never finished a degree.

"Even so, he was hired to teach at Fulton Prep, the school that the rich kids go to before their parents buy them into the Ivy Leagues. In less than a year he went from teacher to managing the investments of a billionaire, Lance Augustus, whose mansion he somehow ended up owning. His business kept gaining more clients, but his financial records were kept under wraps, so no one figured out how he convinced them to sign on. Supposedly there was a prospectus, but he didn't distribute copies to anyone who's talked to me yet."

"Blackmail, it had to be blackmail," Montgomery declares. "Why else would anyone hand over a multimillion-dollar house? I checked with some cops I know who were in Vice around the time of Emily Tolsen's disappearance. They saw Broadhurst in the company of an up-and-coming madam, but they never had enough probable cause of a transaction to bring him in until his victims started coming forward - but you know what happened then."

"It looks like we have at least five avenues of investigation that might lead us somewhere," Jake summarizes, "Friedberg, Alexander, Augustus, Broadhurst's madam, and Fulton Prep. Farley, since the attorneys you checked on look clean, you can look into Fulton Prep. Rick, coordinate with Kate about Augustus and see if you can get anything else out of your contacts," Jake instructs. "If any of them spent time on Broadhurst's plane or his island, they may have a story to tell. The rest of us will keep digging into our suspects and keeping our eyes and ears open."

Kate eases her chair back from the table. I need to check on some of our other cases - and Callie." She squeezes Rick's hand before standing up. "Good work, everyone."

* * *

"It sounds like you have charge of the major case at OOTC," Martha remarks, cautiously spooning up hot and sour soup.

"I'm getting a lot of help," Jake responds, trying to get his chopsticks around a wonton. "Your son certainly has some interesting acquaintances."

"He does seem to attract them," Martha agrees. "But then, the moment one acquires any acclaim, people are anxious to bask in the glow."

The wonton splashes back into Jake's bowl. "I hope you don't see me that way."

"Of course not, Darling," Martha soothes. "You have no need to live vicariously; you have more than enough excitement in your own endeavors. But I've had my share of sycophants."

Giving up and spearing it with one stick, Jake retrieves his wonton. "I'd never doubt that for a moment."

* * *

"Mom, I didn't expect you for at least another week," Lanie exclaims as Melinda Parish pops out of a cab.

"Your father is presenting at a conference in New York - better methods to bring medical care to blighted areas. He's been volunteering in the lower 9th Ward where people are still trying to rebuild their lives after Katrina. Some of the residents picked up fungal infections or were exposed to toxins in the flood water and were never properly seen to. He believes things could have been handled a lot better and he's hoping we can be better prepared the next time around."

"I hear that," Lanie agrees. "A lot of the people who land on my table end up there because things could have been done better. I wish Dad luck. Trying to introduce new ideas to the medical community can sometimes be like trying to go up a down escalator. Barry Warren had to swallow Helicobacter pylori himself to prove it caused ulcers."

"I don't think Walter Parish has plans to infect himself or anyone else with anything but enthusiasm," Melinda replies, "but he can do it. He's already convinced a dozen of his colleagues in Louisiana. But I came to New York with him to see what I could do for you. How are the wedding preparations going?"

Lanie unlocks the door of her apartment and waves her mother inside. "You saw the picture I sent you of my dress - and Kate has hers. One of the techs at the morgue has a side business doing flowers. She says it keeps her from feeling too morbid. So, she's working on the bouquets and the decorations for the chapel. Alexis Castle is going to play me down the aisle. She's terrific on the violin. Kate lined up a jazz quartet she knows to take care of the rest of the music.

"Farley and I were going to have the reception in the banquet room at a steak house, but I just heard last night that it caught fire. The F.D.N.Y. hasn't finished their investigation, but the theory is that someone left an apron too close to the grill. So, we need to find a new venue. I'm hoping to locate one close enough to the chapel so that guests can just walk, but that's going to be hard this late."

"Looks like I arrived just in time!" Melinda declares. "I can get right to it. How many people will the room have to seat?"

"Only about 50. We have 40 RSVPs, but a few might just show up. And we can't make it too tight. A few of Farley's friends from his old team are flying in, and some of them are even bigger than he is."

"Got it," Melinda acknowledges, "space for 50 plus and a jazz quartet, with no low ceilings. Now when do your father and I get to meet Farley face to face? Skype isn't bad, but there's nothing like the real thing."

"We're supposed to have dinner together tonight. You and Dad can join us. And with Farley," Lanie sighs, her eyes drifting shut, "there's absolutely nothing like the real thing."


	65. Chapter 65

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 65

The booth at Family Fare is roomy enough for the Parish family and Farley, with space to spare. That doesn't help with his sense of being closed in as Melinda and Walter gaze at him from across the table. He knew he'd be sized up by his future in-laws eventually, more up close than through the screen of Lanie's laptop; he just hadn't been prepared for it to be tonight. Better now than right before to the wedding, he imagines. It will give him time to get over his nerves - he hopes. Lanie reaches for his hand beneath the table. At least she understands.

Walter Parish is asking if Farley knows anything about the medical problems in the inner city of Detroit. The groom-to-be can suck some air into his lungs at the reasonably safe topic. "My team members and I visited some of the kids that were really bad off, like with cancer, in the hospital. We also worked with the Boys and Girls club to try and teach the kids how to build a team. We saw a lot of what looked like asthma to us, but many of the kids had no inhalers. And sometimes their reflexes seemed off like something was slowing them down. I know the neighborhood where I grew up in New York, better. There was a lot of asthma there, probably from the roaches - and sometimes rat bites. There were a lot of drugs too, which didn't help. Weldon's been working hard to make things better there now. It seems to be improving slowly."

Walter nods. "What you saw in Detroit, with the children being slow, could have been due to lead in the water - or just plain bad nutrition. That's a problem everywhere there's poverty. And a lot of lower-income neighborhoods are food deserts. If the kids don't get fresh fruits and vegetables at school, they hardly even see them."

"There are community gardens in Detroit," Farley points out. "That helps."

"And in New York," Lanie adds. "Alexis Castle and some of her friends volunteer in one."

Walter spears a shrimp. "Glad to hear it. She sounds like a well-raised young lady."

"Most people would never think she would be, with the clown act Rick puts on, but he brought up a great kid," Lanie agrees. "And my godchild, Callie, is adorable. Rick and Kate won't be bringing her to the wedding, but I hope you'll get a chance to see her."

"I'd love that. Have you two given any thought to giving Walter and me grandchildren?" Melinda asks.

Lanie chokes on a sip of her diet cola. "Mom, give us a chance to get married first."

"Fine, but you're not getting any younger. Believe me, running after a toddler is no easy task. It helps to have youthful energy. And teenagers," Melinda rolls her eyes, "you'll need the stamina to cope with them."

"Just let us get through the wedding first," Lanie pleads, "and if I need to build stamina, I can always take out a membership in a gym."

* * *

Belle Foxworth flips through the album on her phone with photos of her latest acquisitions for her stable. She's been staying away from recruiting near the school since Weldon pushed the N.Y.P.D. to beef up patrols in the area, but through her casting agency, she's been able to recruit women who look young. If she tells Augustus and Broadhurst they're teens, they'll believe her, especially since the ladies know how to act the part. They signed on to get roles in high school movies and TV, and Belle promised that if they can perform well at the gatherings for her wealthy clients, they'd get them.

Who knows? She might even be able to come through. She has at least half a dozen producers and directors as johns. If she makes her customers happy, she can make the girls happy. Tonight will be Augustus' night, but Broadhurst will probably be there. He usually is. He can't stay away from the young ones, and he keeps a careful eye on Augustus. She has no idea what Colin has on the man, just that it would be devastating if it got out. Still, Broadhurst is obsessed with making sure that any sizable amounts of money that flow from Augustus end up in his own offshore accounts. As long as Belle gets well paid for her services, she doesn't care what goes on between the two men.

* * *

"Sorry I didn't return your call, Rick," John Seaforth apologizes. "Karen and I were celebrating our 25th anniversary in the Virgin Islands. The cellphone reception is spotty at best at the beach house where we were staying. Karen said we didn't need to call anyone anyway. It's the first time we were really alone together in years."

"Congratulations, man!" Rick offers. "The Virgin Islands - anywhere near Ile de León?"

"You mean Broadhurst's private paradise? I wouldn't go near the place. Couldn't stand the stench. The locals call it _L'île des filles perdues_, the island of lost girls. The word is that Broadhurst keeps an underage harem there, and the authorities want to clean the place out, but Since Broadhurst owns the island, there's nothing they can do."

"You remember OOTC?" Rick asks. "As I recall, you wrote a nice check when we were starting up. We're going after Broadhurst."

"I might just send another check for that," Seaforth remarks. "I had the unfortunate experience of meeting him once. He was trying to convince me to invest with him. I wanted to take a long, very hot shower after being in the same room with that sleaze."

"Did he give you a prospectus?" Rick wonders.

"He said he was sending one to my business manager. If it will help OOTC nail Broadhurst, I'll find out if he still has it on file. If he does, he can email you a scan."

"Thanks, John, I really appreciate it."

"Hell, Rick, nothing to appreciate," Seaforth insists. "We both have daughters. Neither one of us wants a scumbag like Broadhurst free to prey on little girls. I'm happy to do anything I can to help OOTC get him thrown in a hole where he belongs."

* * *

Belle surveys the Augustus home in Scarsdale. It's not nearly the size of the mansion Lance handed over to Broadhurst, but it is a great place to stage a party. Patio doors from the great room open out onto wide lawns with a path lit by electric lanterns leading to a heated pool. The cabanas that surround it make perfect retreats and for those who would have their fun away from the night air, Augustus has several opulent - and sound-proofed - bedrooms on the second floor of the house. The bartender that both men use for their special get-togethers is skilled in making sweet and pretty drinks that disguise the level of alcohol they contain. A couple of those cocktails and most women would agree to anything. And if alcohol isn't enough, there are other means of persuasion.

The limos bringing Belle's cast for the night should be arriving soon. She'll personally inspect them to make sure they look the ages they're portraying and that their hair and makeup are perfect. Belle's getting paid a lot to deliver tonight, and she isn't about to allow any slipups.


	66. Chapter 66

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 66

The principal at Fulton Prep grips Farley's hand a little too firmly. "It is an honor to have an athlete of your caliber willing to work with our team - a real honor. What brought Fulton prep to your attention, Mr. Kutcher?"

Farley frames his answer as carefully as he can. "The school came up in a discussion I was having with some colleagues. I understand that Fulton places a heavy emphasis on academic achievement, but athletics can help students build many vital skills. Don't you agree, Mr. Barr?"

"Absolutely, absolutely. And I know that you'll enjoy interacting with our students. We try to provide an experience that will prepare them for success in whatever fields they choose to pursue in higher education and throughout their lives."

"I'm curious. How do you choose your faculty?" Farley inquires.

"We look for the highest credentials, of course. But we also put weight on the recommendations of board members and legacies. I'm sure your own experience has shown that there are skills that are not always apparent on a resume."

"I have encountered people with unexpected talents," Farley agrees, "and I'm hoping to discover some among your students. When can I meet the team?"

"They practice after school, but I can call them to the office right now. I'm sure our teachers will help them make up anything they miss, so let's get to it."

* * *

"I need one of OOTC's forensic accountants," Rick announces as soon as Kate answers her phone.

"Thank you. I am having a pretty good day at work," Kate replies. "Why do you need a forensic accountant?"

"I have a copy of the prospectus that Broadhurst sent John Seaforth's business manager. I've seen a lot of presentations like this, Kate. Usually, they're full of caveats and disclaimers so you can't sue the fund if you lose money. This one has none of that. It compares the return of Broadhurst's fund to the usual averages but lists several sources of income that I don't recognize. I think Broadhurst might have been pulling a Madoff. He got money from an initial investor - maybe Augustus - then used it to pay off people further up the pyramid. And when his influx slows, Broadhurst supplements it with blackmail. Or he may be using blackmail to pull in more investors. Anyway, someone who knows what they're doing should look into this."

"All right, Babe," Kate agrees. "Email the prospectus to me. I'll call in Jilly Morrison. She untangled fraudulent schemes for the S.D.N.Y. If there's something there, she should be able to uncover it. And could you arrange to have a case of those diapers that fit Callie so well sent over here? The childcare room is almost out."

"Right away, and I thought I'd come pick her up this afternoon. Custos misses her."

"Uh, huh, Custos. I'm sure he does. Fine, I'll see you later."

* * *

Montgomery takes a seat next to Max Logan at the bar of the Basket and Brew. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Actually, Roy, I'm glad you called," the ex-vice cop replies. "Alice is having her book club in, and tragic romances are not my first choice of reading material."

"I hear that," Roy responds. "I remember picking up Bridges of Madison County just to see what Evelyn was talking about. I could barely get through it. Give me a good Derrick Storm, any day."

"You must have a collection of them after having Richard Castle in your precinct all that time."

"I have a few - personally signed. Even before those two got together, Kate Beckett had them all. It just took her a couple of years to admit it to Rick. Kate and OOTC are the reason I called. Do you remember telling me that you saw Broadhurst with a madam?"

"Yeah, sure, Belle Foxworth. From what I hear, she's still operating, but no one's been able to pin her down for selling anything other than escort services."

"I'd like to talk to her."

Max takes a swallow of his beer. "Easier said than done, my friend. She breathes pretty rarefied air. Her black book is like a catalog of the rich and famous - especially the rich. But if she's true to old habits, she likes to hang out at Taste of Britannia. She has a thing for tea and crumpets."

"Tea and crumpets?" Montgomery repeats.

"Yorkshire Gold, as I recall, and she likes those little sandwiches too," Max adds. "Well, no accounting for taste, but if you stake that tearoom out at around four o'clock in the afternoon, Belle may turn up."

* * *

Lisa scrolls through cases handled by the honorable Judge Risa Friedberg. For the most part, she actually seems honorable. As far as Lisa can tell, the matters were decided fairly, with very few reversals on appeal. So what caused Risa to approve the outrageous plea deal for Colin Broadhurst? Lots of people get into financial difficulties from time to time without abandoning their principles. There had to be more going on than money.

Lisa brings up a copy of Friedberg's official biography. Risa went to high school at Hunter. No surprise there; a lot of the brighter girls in New York City do. She earned a Regents' scholarship that covered her expenses at City College. Then there's a gap before she goes on to Columbia Law School. What was she doing in between? No jobs are listed, not even an internship, yet she appeared to be able to pay Columbia tuition, which couldn't have been cheap. Could her past have caught up with her? How?

It's possible a Friedberg-Broadhurst connection may show up in an investigation by one of Lisa's compatriots at OOTC. For now, she's going home. It will be one of the rare nights when Eric isn't working late, and she's going to make the most of it.

* * *

Farley studies the glossy brochure Donald Barr gave him at Fulton Prep. The pictures look impressive but aren't what interest the detective. At the front is a listing of board members. He recognizes a few names as movers and shakers in New York, but he'll have to investigate them all for connections to Colin Broadhurst. At the back of the booklet is a list of the school's patrons. He'll check those out too.

Computer work is the tedious part of Farley's job, but if he can track down the person who induced Fulton Prep to hire an unqualified teacher, he'll have more insight into Broadhurst's web of influence. He won't have anything better to do with his evening, anyway. Lanie and her mother will be going over the possible reception venues Melinda Parish discovered. Farley doesn't need to be any part of that.

Whatever makes Lanie happy is fine with him, and if Melinda is occupied with seating capacities and layouts, she'll be less likely to nag Lanie about grandchildren. It's not that the subject bothers Farley. He loves kids, and if Lanie wants them, he'll be happy to do his part. But if there's one thing he knows about his future bride, it's that she hates being pushed. Even if she can't wait to have a baby like Callie in her arms, she won't do it to please anyone but herself - and him. Lanie's daughter would be beautiful, though. And if they have a son he might like shooting some hoops with his old man.


	67. Chapter 67

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 67

Even before the fisheye from the host and pronouncement that he would have at least a 45-minute wait, Roy realizes that Taste of Britannia is not a place he'll blend in. He recognizes at least three faces from Page Six and another two from Dancing with the Stars.

The only person he knows that stands a chance of success in this environment is Richard Castle. He's not sure how Rick feels about tea, but the trifle that the waiters are dishing out from an ornate glass bowl doesn't look bad at all, and the few men present, appear to have sandwiches that while small, contain meat that looks like roast beef. Roy walks out before the host deigns to give him a table.

Augustus never likes being summoned by Broadhurst. He's always reminded of his major misdeeds; sometimes Colin even runs the video. He doesn't like having to cow in a mansion that used to be his, either, but there's nothing he can do as long as Broadhurst holds all the cards. Lance can't blackmail his way to a sweetheart deal the way Colin did, and he's not spending the rest of his life in jail. Broadhurst's ever-present secretary meets Lance at the door to the mansion. "He's waiting for you."

Broadhurst greets Lance with an oily smile. "I have a new investment for you."

Augustus expels the air from his lungs, shaking his head. "What is it this time, Colin? You know, sometime one of your investments is going to have to pay off. Even my fortune is not a bottomless well."

Broadhurst offers Augustus a folder. "I think you'll like this one. My activities on Ile de León have become too heavily scrutinized. There's a new police chief on an adjoining Island, and he's determined to look into the disappearance of some of the local girls. I need a new location to pursue my amusements, and I suspect you can use one as well. The girls Belle delivered to your last party were pitiful. In my judgment, not a single one of them was under 18, possibly even 22. We both need fresh meat.

"So here's my proposition. We move away from the Virgins and into the Bahamas. There are at least three islands up for sale there right now, and I've been evaluating which one will best suit our purposes. We'll offer specialty excursions on my plane. We both know who will pay well for what we offer. I can cut you in for 10 million."

Lance's manicured fingernails bite into his palms. "When would you need the money?"

"You have time. Three days will be fine. And Lance, who knows? You might just find yourself another Emily."

Lance trembles as Colin's secretary shows him out.

* * *

Jake studies the dossier he's assembled on Todd Alexander. At first glance, the history of his rise to be a U.S. Attorney seems reasonable enough. He was salutatorian of his high school class, gaining admission and a scholarship to Harvard. He went to Law School at Georgetown and clerked for a federal judge before becoming a prosecutor. Alexander had been regarded as tough. His plea deals hadn't been generous, and he'd won most of his cases - until Broadhurst.

Two years before the Broadhurst deal, Alexander's personal life started falling apart. His wife divorced him for reasons that were sealed under a settlement. He sold his home at a loss and moved into a small condo. Except for his work, he had no activities but appeared to be living on the financial edge. The scenario is a portrait of a man being bled dry by an extortionist - and then came the Broadhurst plea.

After Broadhurst, Alexander went into private practice, opening a small office, keeping his head down, and supplementing his income with a seat on a corporate board. Jake thinks it's unlikely that Todd is about to give him anything useful, but his wife may be another matter, especially if she is talking to another woman - or two. Kate and Lisa would be the perfect double team.

* * *

"Roy wants you to do what?" Kate demands, trying to keep the pitch of her voice from rising.

"Go to Taste of Britannia and try to weasel my way in with Belle Foxworth. Listen, Kate, you're in charge of OOTC. If you want to overrule him, I'll accept it. I've never been that fond of British tea fare. I prefer something I can get my teeth into."

"Uh huh, I noticed the two new ribeyes in the fridge."

"Yeah, they look great, don't they? But culinary choices aside, Belle Foxworth is linked to Broadhurst, probably as his procurer and maybe a lot more. She could be involved in Emily Tolsen's disappearance. I think it's worth a shot to find out."

"It is," Kate agrees reluctantly. "Fine. Drop into Taste of Britannia for high tea, but keep your phone on. I'll have an OOTC operative ready to step in if anything goes south."

* * *

Farley feels stiffer than after a big game. Except for grabbing a few hours of sleep and a couple of sandwiches, he's been in front of his computer for 20 hours. But it looks like his efforts are finally paying off. After checking into the board members at Fulton Prep one by one, he may have struck gold. One of them is Lyle Kurwich, an industrialist not known for philanthropy, but a Fulton graduate.

Old newspaper records reveal that he had at one point been arrested for solicitation of sex with a minor, but charges had been dropped when the witness refused to testify. The name of Belle Foxworth popped up in relation to the case, but she was never charged. Lyle Kurwich joined the board of Fulton just before Broadhurst was hired as a teacher. It can't be a coincidence.

* * *

Rose Fentress dropped the Alexander from her name after divorcing Todd. She would have loved to do more than divorce him, thinking briefly of emulating Lorena Bobbitt's artistry with a knife, but she needed the settlement more than she needed revenge. She had a mother who was growing increasingly feeble, and providing care for her was expensive. Rose also wanted to finish the law degree she abandoned to help Todd attain his. She wasted too many years on that dirtbag.

Women for Woman has been her lifeline. She's heard stories a hell of a lot worse than her own and been able to serve as a support system for many of her sisters. She's far from knowing every member of her local chapter. New ones join up every day, attending the early morning orientation breakfasts they can fit in before work.

Lisa A. and Kate B. are part of the group gathered around the large round table at Breaking Dawn, after helping themselves at the buffet set up at five o'clock every morning. Kate looks vaguely familiar, but Rose can't place her. Rose gives her usual introductory speech about women having to help each other - especially after being failed by men. Kate is silent through the optional sharing time, but Lisa is willing to tell a story of a husband too busy working to stand by her in her darkest moments.

Kate observes Rose as Lisa gives the line they agreed on about striking out on her own to find a long-buried truth, guilty as Lisa felt giving her imaginary slam to her husband. The older woman shudders. Kate is sure that Rose has her own buried truth. She and Lisa just have to pull it out of her.


	68. Chapter 68

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 68

"You're sure?" Melinda Parish queries as Lanie takes a final turn around the room that will house her wedding reception.

"It's perfect, Mom. The ceilings must be at least 10 ft. There is plenty of room for our guests, even the extra ones. Lanie points to a corner. "The jazz quartet can set up there, and there will be space for dancing in front of them."

"It will be a long walk from the chapel," Melinda points out.

"Not for New Yorkers. Also, there's a subway line that runs this way from the chapel, and there are usually plenty of cabs in the area."

"How about renting some vans?" Melinda suggests. "There's a lot at the chapel where whoever you convince to get behind the wheel can park until they ferry people over here. Your father and I can drive over ahead of them and be here to greet the crowd before you and Farley make your grand entrance from your limo."

"What limo?" Lanie asks. "Farley can drive us over - and Rick and Kate can bring Scooter, Farley's best man."

"Scooter?"

"Um, hmm. They grew up together in New York, pretty much from the time they were babies. Scooter's mom called him that because he scooted along on his behind instead of crawling, and it stuck. They even played basketball together until Farley got his growth spurt. Scooter got into science. He teaches at Stuyvesant, Kate's alma mater. I think Dad will like him. They speak the same language."

"Does this Scooter have a girlfriend? She'd need a place at the head table."

"He has a husband, Mother. And there will be plenty of room for him."

Melinda is silent for a moment before shifting gears. Where are you going to put the cake?"

Lanie's eyes widen as she covers her mouth. "Oh God! I didn't order one! Our original venue was going to provide a cake. They have a partnership with the bakery that makes their desserts, but we were so busy looking for a new place that I didn't even think about it. I believe Rick knows every bakery in town. He acts like it. I'll ask Kate to talk to him."

"Better make it fast," Melinda admonishes. "Wedding cakes are not created overnight."

"They are during the contest to make them on the Food Channel," Lanie returns, "but I can call Kate right now."

* * *

Kate hates letting Lanie's call go to voicemail, but she and Lisa are just beginning to make progress with Rose Fentress. They requested a meeting with Rose after the breakfast orientation to ask what they could do for Women for Women. At this moment they are urging Rose to tell the story of how she got involved.

Rose is circumspect at best, only admitting that under the terms of her settlement with Todd Alexander, she is unable to reveal the details of what precipitated their divorce. When Kate asks if the activities of Women for Women extend to supporting those who were sexually abused as girls, Rose goes white. "Did something happen to you?" Lisa prompts gently.

"Not me, but girls I know of. I can't tell you much. When Todd and I got married, I knew he had a school girl fetish. I heard a lot of men have them. I even saw a cop who did on one of those late night crime shows. You know, the guy was into knee socks and plaid skirts - like a school uniform. The one on TV was harmless. He was faithful to his wife; he just liked the costume. But I found out that for some men there is more to it than that. After we were divorced, I know Todd made a deal to let a sex predator off - one who I think knew about something Todd was doing. After I threw up, I started working even harder with Women for Women, and that does include girls too. I've been doing it ever since."

* * *

Farley circles the block for 45 minutes before finding a parking spot where he can observe the comings and goings at Lyle Kurwich's refurbished brownstone. For hours there isn't much to see except UPS dropping off a package and the unsuccessful attempt at entry by a man and woman carrying what look to be religious tracts and bibles. He can't blame them for trying. At three thirty in the afternoon, Farley witnesses a teenage girl he would put at 15 or 16, urging what looks to be a younger classmate to join her in the building. He snaps as many pictures as he can before they enter the front door and stomach churning, waits for them to emerge.

* * *

"Can I borrow your copy of Teen Adorations?" Rick asks Alexis.

"Dad, are you finally getting into Dalton Grey?"

"Much as I love American Horror Story, no. I need it as a prop for a fishing expedition I'm going on for an OOTC case. Does it have pictures of teenage girls in it?"

"Not many, it's mostly about Alexander and Dalton and Devon. But Young Up and Coming has both," Alexis suggests. "I don't have a copy, but I saw one at the Bop Shop."

Wrapping his older daughter in a bear hug, Rick kisses the top of her head. "That's right on my way. Thanks."

"Dad, is Kate going to go with you? I could sit for Callie."

"I appreciate the offer. Kate will be keeping Callie with her at OOTC, but she's going to be monitoring me every moment. I'll have an operative watching my back."

"That's good, but be careful," Alexis urges.

Rick draws her in again. "I promise."

* * *

Breathing a relieved sigh, Belle sinks into the brocade-covered cherrywood chair at her accustomed table at Taste of Britannia. It hasn't been a great day. Three of her girls decided they'd rather become office temps - even if it doesn't pay nearly as well. As they put it, they couldn't stand having slimy paws on them anymore. She signals the waiter for a pot of her usual and the fare of the day.

"They were getting up there anyway," Belle comforts herself taking a sip of the bracing brew. One of them was about to turn 25, over the hill even for Lance Augustus' less than discerning eyes. But the loss of the girls isn't her only problem. She can use some new clients too. From what Broadhurst's secretary told Belle about his new venture, it's not going to put any money in the madam's pockets. It may even reduce her revenues.

Belle gazes around the room. It's mostly the usual crowd except for the man flipping through the pages of a magazine while stuffing his face with the roast beef. She struggles to put a name to the slightly familiar face. Right, Richard Castle, he's a mystery writer who spent all that time hanging with cops and married one. So what is he doing with a copy of Young Up and Coming - which features nothing but pictures of barely teenaged boys and girls? Perhaps the man has a secret longing she could help him fulfill. Since Belle found him a willing partner in his butter fetish, Milton has made introductions between her and tearoom customers. She doesn't doubt that he can come up with a believable pretext. Belle signals the host and whispers her request.

Milton smiles and bows. "I believe I can achieve your objective with no difficulty at all."

A/N The new chapter of my The Rookie story "The Way Back," is posted.


	69. Chapter 69

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 69

"Pardon me, Sir, are you Richard Castle?" Milton inquires, approaching Rick's table.

"My wife would put a Beckett and a hyphen in front of the Castle," Rick responds, but I am he. Did you want to see my license or my credit card?"

Milton forces a laugh. "Your server will take care of your credit card when you've completed your dining experience. I am asking on behalf of another patron who has expressed an interest in your work. To be honest, Mr. Castle," Milton continues, inclining his head toward Belle, she's quite a fan and is looking forward to meeting you. She wonders if you might join her at her table. If you agree, my staff can easily accommodate the transfer."

Castle can barely control his grin, just managing to mediate it to an indulgent smile. "Of course. I'm always happy to meet my readers. And if you can get my server to bring me an extra roast beef sandwich for the move, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, Mr. Castle," Milton replies with a slight bow. 'I'll see to it immediately."

Belle extends her hand as Rick approaches, and he lightly brushes her knuckle with his lips. "So pleased to meet you, Ms.…?

"Foxworth," Belle fills in, "Belle Foxworth."

Rick nods. "Ah. Now I am truly delighted to make your acquaintance. Your name has come up from time to time in my circles, as providing much-appreciated services."

Rick can see the glimmer that appears in Belle's eyes. "And what services would you appreciate, Mr. Castle?"

"I am always receptive to the young and fresh."

Belle's eyebrow rises almost imperceptibly. "Indeed. Young and fresh is a specialty of mine."

Rick leans across the table. "Yes, I expected it might be. So, how can I avail myself of your services, Ms. Foxworth?"

Belle presses a card into Rick's hand. "I will be making introductions at this address at seven p.m. tonight. I'll leave notice that you're to be admitted."

"Ms. Foxworth, I look forward to the experience."

As soon as he's back in his car, Rick pulls his phone out of the pocket of his lightweight shirt. "Kate, could you get all that?"

"I got it," Kate replies. "Young and fresh, huh? Babe, you may just have blown this case wide open, but I don't like the idea of you going in there alone."

Rick examines the address on the card and recognizes it as an apartment in an exclusive building at 72nd Street and Central Park West. "I know the place Belle is sending me. I've always been fascinated by the gargoyles on the wrought iron fence around it. It's right across the street from a park entrance. You can station people there, and if OOTC's tech guru can come up with a buttonhole camera, I should be able to transmit everything that's happening. If I get into trouble, you can send in the cavalry."

Kate chews her lip. "We don't have much time. You'd better come in now, and we'll see what Mitch can rig for you. In the meantime, I'll arrange to get our people in place. But Babe, are you sure you want to do this? We have no way of knowing what you'll be up against tonight."

Rick sets his jaw. "I'm sure. If Belle Foxworth recruited Emily Tolsen, getting me inside is the best way to figure out what happened to the girl."

Before Kate tucks her phone away, she notes the "1" over her voicemail icon. Damn, she never checked on what Lanie wanted. After playing the message, she realizes she has more than work to discuss with Rick, but conferring about a bakery may have to wait, at least until the next morning.

* * *

Mitch (The Ear) Converse searches unsuccessfully through his collection for a camera that will match the buttons on Rick's shirt. "None of these are going to work. They're more Walmart or Macy's, and your style is more Brooks Brothers."

"Phil Culpepper, actually," Rich informs the tech. "He's the tailor that makes a lot of my shirts. Have you got anything else? Maybe a set of super spy glasses?"

"How do you feel about tie tacks?" Mitch asks.

"They put holes in the silk, but I'll go along with whatever it takes to capture a view of Belle Foxworth's operation, " Rick declares.

"Oh, we'll capture it," Mitch assures him, "in living color and high fidelity sound."

* * *

A large fellow stationed in the courtyard of the historic building Rick approaches in the early evening, checks his I.D. before allowing him access to the elevator that will take him to Belle's apartment. While the structure was built in the 1880s, the elevator is thankfully of more recent vintage and makes the passage smoothly and almost silently. The elevator opens facing the apartment number Belle gave Rick, and the door opens before he can knock. Apparently, Belle was alerted that Rick was on his way up.

A girl that Rick wouldn't put at more than 15 ushers him inside where Belle is waiting, surrounded by teens no older than Alexis. Rick masks his disgust with a Castle smile. "Ms. Foxworth, a pleasure to see you again."

"And you as well, Mr. Castle. I'm sure you will find one of my collection of the young and the fresh to your liking."

"I assume you aren't referring to the flowers in your exquisite vases, Ms. Foxworth," Rick remarks.

"You may certainly have flowers if you wish, Mr. Castle, but," Belle waves at the semi-circle of boys and girls, "I was referring to the selection to meet your needs for stimulating companionship this evening."

"And what sort of stimulation would that entail, Ms. Foxworth?" Rick queries.

"I offer a full menu of pleasures, Mr. Castle, at commensurate fees. You are welcome to choose whoever and whatever you like. Your selection for the evening will provide anything you require. Whom would you find most exciting?"

Rick surveys the young people before him. One girl with hip-length black hair is clasping and unclasping her fingers, her eyes wide like a frightened fawn. He points at her. "That one."

Belle turns to the girl in question. "Raven, take Mr. Castle to the gold room and offer him full service."

Raven's shoulders curl into her body even as she holds out her hand for Rick to grasp. "Yes, Ma'am." She leads him down a short hall to a door with an ornate molding painted in gold. "This way."

Rick notes the flash of a tiny camera lens over the headboard of the large bed and moves a pillow to cover it. Raven tentatively pulls at the halter of a mini-dress that exposes more than it conceals. Rick gently touches her arm. "You don't have to do that."

"Why?" Raven asks. "What do you want? Ms. Foxworth told me to offer you everything."

Rick gestures toward a chair that appears to be designed to accommodate two in a variety of positions. "Then sit down and offer me a little conversation."

Raven sinks down in confusion. "What do you want to talk about? The men who come in here, mostly they get right to…"

"Sex?" Rick asks.

Raven nods her head.

"I'm a writer, Raven. That means I need to know what people do and why they do it. And if they're in trouble, sometimes I can help them out. Tell me about what's been happening to you here," Rick urges. "What do your other, uh, clients, ask you to do?"

"In this room, they like me to sit on their laps sometimes, without my panties. And sometimes they'll say things to me, like baby talk, before they stick it in. Usually, that doesn't take very long. Then Ms. Foxworth runs their credit cards and sends someone in to make sure the chair isn't sticky, and the bed is clean before she sends in the next john - I mean customer."

"And why are you here, Raven?" Rick asks. "Shouldn't you be doing your homework or going out for pizza with your friends?"

Tears begin to flow down Raven's face. "My mother died, and my father wouldn't stop drinking. He lost his job, and after that, he'd grab me and hurt me. I tried to cover the bruises, but one day, Ms. Foxworth saw me walking to the subway from school. It was boiling out, and I had my sleeves pushed up so the marks where my father held me showed. She told me that she could give me a safe place where I could earn some money and afford to be on my own someday. At first, all I had to do was give massages with just my panties on. But then, I had to do it with my panties off too and after that…"

"Ms. Foxworth made you have sex with men."

"Or they just took what they wanted. I wanted to leave, but I have nowhere to go, and Ms. Foxworth said that if I told the police what happened, they'd arrest me as a hooker."

"Believe me, Raven," Rick promises. "The police don't arrest little girls for having sex; they arrest men for raping them. And I'm going to get you out of here."


	70. Chapter 70

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 70

Murray Stone hesitantly emerges from the chamber where he monitors the feed from the bedrooms used to service Belle's clients. "Ma'am?"

"What do you want? You should be watching the screens," Belle chides her video tech.

"That's just it, Ma'am. I'm not getting much from the gold room. The feed is coming through, but the camera is blocked by something like a pillow."

"It's happened before," Belle recalls. "Some of our more energetic clients have knocked things against the lens."

"I know, Ma'am, but this happened right away, almost as soon as Raven brought her client into the room. They weren't even, um, doing anything. I waited for a couple of minutes to see if the image would clear before coming out here, but I'm still not getting anything."

Belle presses an icon on her phone. "Get the hell into the gold room, now!"

Rick can see only large bodies barreling at him as he finishes his promise to Raven. With fingers digging painfully into his arms, two men drag him before Belle.

She regards his still fastened tie and tightly belted pants. "A little slow in getting started, weren't you, Mr. Castle?"

"I was talking with Raven," Rick explains. "I'm a writer. Words turn me on."

"And you had to move a pillow to speak to her?" Belle prods.

"I heard him say something about getting Raven out," one of Rick's accosters interjects.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rick insists.

Belle reaches up to grasp his chin. "Well, then you're going to get an education, Mr. Castle." She nods at the two men holding Rick. "Take him to the specialty room. We'll give him some time to think about what he knows."

In a van within the short transmission range of Rick's tie tack camera, Kate can hear the clink of metal as a stocky chest bulging against a tight-fitting shirt fills her screen. With her breath coming in ragged gasps, she orders her people in to Belle's building and calls for back up from the 17th Precinct.

Rick's shoulders strain against the weight of his own body as he hangs from the ceiling by chains attached to metal shackles. He prays that the feed from the fancy pin that still adorns his tie went out to Kate and the OOTC operatives stationed in the park. He already aches, even though he's only been suspended above the floor for a few minutes. Aside from his shoulders, the two men who pulled him out of the gold room were far from gentle.

He's more worried about Raven than he is about himself. God, or someone much lower down, only knows how Belle will punish her if she thinks the girl was trying to get away. At least she's not chained in here with him, but there are worse things.

Belle's guard in the courtyard tries to bar Kate's team from accessing the madam's apartment, but she isn't about to let anything or anyone stop them from going after Rick. Her kick finds its mark in the most effective and painful spot before she leads the charge up the stairs next to the elevator.

As a cop, she would be subject to an inquiry into the use of excessive force. The man curled around himself on the ground can sue or even bring charges against her as a private citizen, but she very much doubts he'll do either. Anyway, all that matters is getting Rick away from Belle Foxworth. She can hear the rising pitch of approaching sirens. It won't be long before help arrives, but she's not about to wait.

The dark wood of the door of Belle's apartment splinters under the assault of three OOTC operatives and Kate charges inside, firmly holding the gun she's still licensed to carry, followed by her team.

Also hearing the sirens, Belle knows that she's in a battle her attorneys rather than her heavily muscled security is going to have to wage. Even as her men surge forward, she orders them back and raises her arms in surrender. Soon it's going to be time to play let's make a deal, and she already knows what – and who - she's going to offer in trade.

As Kate unlocks the shackles holding him, Rick falls into her arms. "Raven, is she all right?"

Pressing herself against Rick in relief, Kate ignores the poke of the pin on his tie against her breasts. "She's out in the main room with the rest of Belle's underage stable. She has a red mark on her cheek where it looks like Belle might have slapped her, but I don't think the bitch had time to do anything else. You did it, Babe, you freed Raven and all the other kids too."

"Freed them for what, Kate? If you were monitoring, you must have heard Raven's story. She has nowhere to go except back to an abusive father. If that's how Belle does her recruiting, the others may be in the same boat."

"Babe, the cops are here, and child services won't be far behind. The kids will be safe," Kate soothes, cupping his cheek.

Rick closes his eyes, shaking his head. "I'll need to make sure of that."

"I know you will," Kate whispers, pressing a kiss to his lips. "We'll do it together."

* * *

When Rick and Kate stride into the childcare room at OOTC to pick up Callie, Alexis gazes up at them. "I didn't think it would be safe to take her home on the subway or in a cab without her seat. I know Carrie Anne is really good with her, but I thought I'd keep my little sister company until you came. I told her a story about Mom and Dad fighting a very evil witch. She seemed to like it. She smiled and was kicking her feet and waving her hands while I acted it out."

Rick pecks his older daughter on the cheek before picking up his younger one, snuggling her baby warmth against his still sore shoulder. "What you told her wasn't far from the truth. But I don't think this witch will be luring any children to her gingerbread house again. She's in holding at the 17th, while her lawyers assemble. She's already claimed she has a lot of information to trade, but I don't think she's going to be in business anywhere but a prison work program anytime soon."

"Let's all go home," Kate declares, cinching her arm around Rick's waist.

"I second that motion." Rick murmurs, brushing his face against the silk of Callie's hair.

* * *

The first light of dawn is leaking through the bedroom drapes when Kate sits straight up in bed.

Rick swipes his forearm across his eyes before forcing himself up on his elbows. "What's wrong?"

"The cake!"

"What cake?"

"There isn't a cake."

Rick inches up against the headboard. "A cake that isn't? Kate, are you sleep-sitting?"

"No, there isn't a cake because, in all the confusion of finding a new place for the reception, Lanie forgot to order one. She thought you might know a bakery that could put one together on short notice; something to match the jazz theme of the reception."

"My knowledge of pastry artists is only outstripped by my knowledge of fine dining establishments and collectibles emporiums - or is that emporia? I think that either is acceptable. In any case, we will find a master baker who will create the cake of Lanie's dreams. But first, after yesterday, I'd prefer a little more time in the land of Nod, myself."

Kate slides down and pats the spot beside her. "Then take it, and later we can share a sweet treat of our own."


	71. Chapter 71

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 71

Belle's lead attorney, Melvin Bellini, stares confidently across the table at A.D.A. Toni Gonzalez. "We're ready to make our proffer."

The corners of Toni's mouth imperceptively twitch upward."'I'm afraid you don't have much to offer, Mr. Bellini. The police got a warrant to search Belle's apartment on Central Park West. They found the electronic versions of little black books - dating back decades - and pictures and video to accompany them. My people have barely started digging through the data, but it's all extremely interesting - and incriminating."

"You're bluffing," Belle spits out. "My records are all encrypted. Anything you found would be useless to you."

"Normally you might be right about that," Toni agrees, "but we had help from an intelligence agency which was also interested in the contents. Its technicians found the encryption key quite quickly. And considering the assistance that Out of the Cold accords city, I'm going to help them with a case. You can knock some time off your sentence with one thing. I might even convince the judge to sentence you to a less restrictive facility."

Belle and Bellini exchange glances, and he nods. "What?" Belle asks.

"Do you know what happened to Emily Tolsen?"

"Not precisely," Belle replies, "but I have a very good idea."

* * *

"Do you know where Raven is?" Rick asks.

Kate gently touches his arm. "All of Belle's kids are in a juvenile facility until they can be checked out and debriefed, Babe. Child Services will place them with foster families as soon as they can, but it's hard with teenagers."

"And they've all been so traumatized they're going to need therapy, lots of it," Rick adds. "Is the city up for that? If someone had been alert to what was going on with Raven, Belle never would have gotten her hooks into her in the first place."

"Child Services is overloaded. You saw that when you were at the precinct," Kate reminds him. "Kids were stealing, getting into drugs, and worse because no one was looking out for them. And teenagers keep their secrets, especially girls - even Alexis."

"Yeah, I know, but she's always told Mother or me what was on her mind eventually. Does she talk to you about anything I don't know about?"

"Nothing criminal, but there are things a girl has an easier time telling a woman - no matter how cool the Dad. And I am around more than Martha is."

"For which I am extremely grateful. Raven opened up to me, but I guess she didn't have any other choice. She was confused and desperate. Still, I feel like I have a bond with her. Do you think her social worker or whoever is in charge of her case will let me see her?"

"I don't know, Babe, but we can find out."

* * *

The N.Y.P.D. keeps the news of Belle Foxworth's arrest out of the press long enough for the almost simultaneous raids on the homes of Lance Augustus and Colin Broadhurst to take them by surprise. Other than an extensive stash of kiddie porn, the Scarsdale police don't find much at the Augustus residence.

Broadhurst's mansion is another story. He has a similar pornography collection, including his pictures and video of Emily Tolsen, but the N.Y.P.D also finds a vast trove of financial records detailing extortion, money laundering, and Ponzi schemes, which will take a squad of forensic accountants, including OOTC's Jilly Morrison to unravel.

Broadhurst finds himself facing the newly elected New York City district attorney Brian Dorn, as well as Toni Gonzalez and a representative of the Southern District of New York, in the tight confines of the interrogation room of the 17th Precinct. With the cash and loose diamonds in his safe seized as evidence and Broadhurst's funds frozen, Colin's longtime attorney, Liev Dersh, refuses to take his call.

"Mr. Broadhurst," Brian's deep tones rumble across the table, you have been busy since Todd Alexander let you off with a love tap. And by the way, we know how you blackmailed him and Judge Friedman with information and video from Belle Foxworth. We know how you managed to become a teacher at Fulton Prep, as well. In fact, Madam Foxworth and her records have been quite informative. So if you want to salvage anything of what is left of your life, you will have to talk better and faster than she did. And you will need to give us facts we don't already have."

"What do you want to know, and what do I get for giving it to you?" Broadhurst demands.

"What you'll get is the chance not to share a cell and a shower with men who have a unique and violent dislike for pedophiles," Dorn explains. "The inmates at Sing-Sing, for example, have interesting ways of demonstrating how it feels to have something long and hard shoved into an orifice where it doesn't belong."

"In fact," Toni adds, "some of them regard it as a hobby. Believe me, Colin, they could make your life even more of a living hell than you and Belle Foxworth did to so many others. But we can recommend that you receive some level of protection."

"And what would I have to do in return?" Broadhurst asks.

Dorn's eyes harden as he leans across the table. "You will have to tell us every detail of every crime you've ever committed and everything you know about crimes anyone else committed. And I warn you, Mr. Broadhurst, you tell us one lie or leave anything out, we will petition the judge to throw the book at you so hard you'll be knocked flat - permanently."

"You can start," Toni suggests, "by telling us what happened to Emily Tolsen."

"That wasn't my fault," Broadhurst protests, "you should be asking Lance Augustus about that."

"We will, Colin," Toni assures him, "but right now we are asking you."

"Look, I liked Emily, I really did. One of the other girls from her modeling school introduced her to Belle. Mostly we just used her for parties and a massage here and there. She had hands!"

"Broadhurst," Dorn growls, "what happened to that little girl?"

"It was Lance. He likes to put his hands on their necks, just until they lose consciousness. He doesn't mean to hurt them, but sometimes things get out of hand. It happened with another girl, one of the homeless ones. Lance swore it wouldn't happen again. Belle Foxworth's muscle disposed of the body, and nobody missed her, but that's when I made Lance give me the Manhattan house.

"Lance didn't cause any more incidents for a couple of years, and I let my guard down. So did Belle. Lance had just funded a big deal for me and asked for a massage from Emily. I let him have one."

"And he killed her?" Toni asked

"She wasn't dead, but she didn't get enough air. I don't know how long Lance had his hands around her neck, but when she woke up, she wasn't there, if you know what I mean."

"So you had Belle dispose of a body again." Toni spits out.

"Hey, no. I told you I liked Emily. I helped Lance put her in a private hospital, upstate."

"Where she was your living evidence against Lance Augustus," Dorn points out. "And she's still there?"

"As far as I know, she is," Broadhurst confirms, "but I don't know for how long if Lance can't keep sending the place money her upkeep."

Dorn shoves a legal pad and a pen toward Broadhurst. "We need an address."


	72. Chapter 72

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 72

"Did your end of the alphabet find anything useful when they cracked Belle Foxworth's encryption?" Jackson asks.

Rita dips a triangle of pita into the hummus on a snack platter she and Hunt are sharing while they review the video of female agents testing out new weaponry. "They got a few tidbits. Belle was providing girls to visiting Saudis, and she kept track of their movements. We tagged the ones associating with what's left of Al Qaeda. Their extracurricular activities may give us some leverage."

Hunt grabs a piece of flatbread for himself. "At least getting your people involved turned out to be more than just an excuse to help the kids."

"I was glad to help, anyway. Richard and Kate did some good work taking Foxworth and Broadhurst out of the game. This country doesn't need that kind of trafficking. No country does. And your son put himself on the line."

"We both know it was hardly the first time," Hunt remarks, "but I'm hoping it will be the last. I don't have any dark hair left for him to turn white."

"There's always your eyebrows," Rita teases. "And he is very much your son, Jack. You can't expect him to stay on the sidelines any more than you do. But Kate and her organization were there to get him out of trouble. Even away from the N.Y.P.D., he and Kate still make a great team."

"It took Richard long enough, but he found the right woman," Hunt agrees.

Rita jabs Hunt with a celery stick. "Not as long as it took his father."

* * *

Sasha Tolsen grasps her husband's hand as the nurse explains that although her daughter has made a lot of progress since she was admitted, she may not recognize her parents.

"It's going to be all right," George Tolsen declares, as much to convince himself as his wife.

As the nurse leads the way, a thin figure gazing out the window is visible through the open door of the hospital room. "Emily," the nurse calls, "You have visitors."

George can't fail to recognize a daughter who looks so much like a younger Sasha. Emily regards her father, curiously. "Grandpa?"

"No, Emily," George answers, "it's Daddy." He gestures toward Sasha. "And this is your Mommy. We've been trying to find you."

Emily walks across the room, hands outstretched until she touches her parents' faces. "Colin said you were dead. But I can feel you. If you were ghosts, my hands would go through you, like Casper. I remember Casper. I used to watch him on TV."

"Yes, you did," Sasha recalls. "And when you were six you dressed up as a ghost for Halloween. Do you remember that?"

"I couldn't eat the candy because the sheet was in the way, and you told me that if you made up my face, I wouldn't have to cover it. I wanted to learn about makeup. I remember a school in New York, but not much after that except for coming here and what Colin said. He lied, didn't he?"

George fights to keep the anger out of his voice. "Colin Broadhurst told a lot of lies, but he won't be telling any more." George turns to the nurse. "Would it be safe for Emily to come back to New Jersey with us?"

"Her doctor will have to sign off on it," Nurse Cindy Klaen replies. "And you'd have to help her keep up her exercises. Dr. Schutt is at another facility today, but we can call him. You can try to work something out."

* * *

Raven is sitting on the edge of a chair twisting the hem of her shirt between her fingers when Rick and Kate enter the visiting room. Her eyes widen. "Mr. Castle!"

"Hi, Raven. This is my wife, Kate Beckett-Castle."

Raven shifts her focus from Rick. "I remember you. I thought you were going to shoot Ms. Foxworth."

"I wanted to," Kate admits, bumping against Rick, "but I had to get this guy out of trouble."

"You - both of you - got all of us out of trouble."

"How are you doing now?" Rick asks. "Are you feeling OK? Do they give you enough to eat? Do you need anything?"

"The teacher who came to see us says I have a lot of catching up to do with school. We have classes here, but it would be nice to go to a real one. Before - you know - I was in French club. And I was getting good on computers," Raven adds.

"French club and computers, you and my daughter Alexis would get along. You're almost the same age."

Raven sighs. "I'd love to have another girl as a friend - a real one. I haven't had one for a long time. Belle wouldn't let us talk to each other."

"Everyone needs friends." Rick muses. "Maybe we can do something about that."

"What's that look about?" Kate asks as she and Rick head out of the building to the parking lot.

"What look?" Rick asks, digging around in his pocket for his key.

"The look you get when you're about to jump into something with both feet and no brain."

"I was thinking that maybe we could take Raven. She could have the guest room in the loft, and she'd have Alexis to guide her back into the teenage universe. I could hire a tutor to help her catch up in school, and once she meets Custos, she'll know she'll be safe with us."

Kate shakes her head as she slides into the passenger seat. "Babe, assuming we could get through the process required to take in a foster child, don't you think you'd better ask your daughter before committing her to a teen rescue mission?"

"And I haven't asked you either," Rick realizes. "How do you feel about taking Raven into our home?"

"We have enough complications in our lives taking care of Callie. And we don't know how she and Raven would react to each other or if Raven even knows how to behave around a baby."

"You're right," Rick admits. "I was jumping in without engaging my brain. But assuming that all of that works out, how would you feel about having a foster daughter?"

"I remember how it felt to lose my mother, and Raven is younger and more adrift than I was. If we can help her, I'd like to try." Rick turns right as he pulls out of the lot. "Babe, where are you going? OOTC and the loft are both in the other direction."

"I know. But this is the way to a bakery that can produce the kind of cake Lanie wants, in time for her reception. I called her before we left to see Raven and asked her to meet us there. I believe Mama Melinda will be participating in the tastings as well. I asked about Farley, but apparently, he is leaving the choice up to his bride."

"Uh, huh. We're not going to give him another case this close to the wedding, but Lanie told me that he has a project that came out of his investigation in the Tolsen case. He's going to try to pair up the kids on the basketball team at Fulton Prep with kids from his old neighborhood. He thinks they can give all of them an education in a lot more than the game."

"It sounds like a great idea. I hope he'll let me know if there's any way I can help."

Kate smiles to herself at her husband's unfailing urge to pitch in. "I'm sure he will."


	73. Chapter 73

Chipping Through the Ice

Chapter 73

Kate wraps her arms around Rick's neck as he tosses his cellphone onto his desk. "You look like you just lost your best friend."

"I guess I shouldn't," Rick muses, running a fingertip over Kate's hand. "That really was good news. Raven has an aunt, her mother's sister. She and her husband are missionaries, and they've been in a village in Africa for the past few years. They had no idea what was happening to Raven. But they're back in the United States now to set up an outreach to an African refugee community in lower Manhattan."

"And Children's Services looks to family first, so Raven will be placed with her aunt and uncle," Kate finishes.

"Right," Castle acknowledges. "They sound like very loving people. I suppose it's for the best."

"You know, there's nothing to stop you from keeping in touch with Raven." Kate points out.

"You're right," Castle agrees. "Just to make sure she has everything she needs."

"Sure, Babe. And I have some news that might cheer you up. The plea deals from Belle Foxworth, Lance Augustus, and Colin Broadhurst involve some serious forfeitures that will be used to set up a fund for their victims. That means all of Belle's underage stable and the Tolsens will have access to whatever resources they need. But I heard that Emily is doing a lot better than anyone thought she would."

"Honestly, I didn't expect her to be found alive," Castle confesses. "OOTC deals with so many grieving parents. I'm happy for the Tolsen family. And speaking of happiness, shouldn't the matron of honor be going to help the bride prepare for her wedding?"

"I think her mother has that in hand, but I did promise to be at the chapel early to run interference in case Melinda starts going over the top. Did you know that Lanie asked Martha to be mistress of ceremonies at the reception? She thought she'd add a little flare to the proceedings."

"Mother can certainly do that."

"And she's bringing Jake as her plus one," Kate adds. "They've been seeing a lot of each other."

Rick strokes the imaginary stubble on his clean-shaven chin. "Hmm. Mother's taste in men has finally improved. Listen, Alexis is going over early to check out where she should play to get the best acoustics. If you want to get going too, I'll wait for the sitter. Carrie Anne said she could be here in about," he glances at his watch, "an hour. I just thought of a plotline I want to get down on the page. I'll bring Callie's swing in here, and she can keep me company while I write. I'll still have plenty of time to put on a suit."

"OK," Kate agrees. "I'll see you at the chapel. And don't forget we're taking Scooter and his husband to the reception, so you'll have to move Callie's seat."

"Roger that," Castle responds, saluting.

* * *

Melinda Parish tilts her head, staring critically at Lanie's hair. We should have put it up higher. I don't think your veil is going to hang right. It should flow smoothly down your back. I should take the pins out and try again."

Lanie surveys herself in the mirror of the tiny brides' room. "It looks fine to me, Mom. Why don't we try the veil before you decide to start over."

"I don't know," Melinda shakes her head as Kate arrives.

"Lanie, you look incredible. Farley is going to be blown away."

"Mom thinks my hair is wrong for the veil."

Kate reaches for the delicate French lace draped over a chair. "Easy enough to find out. There's a comb on the circlet that should - there, that's perfect."

Melinda moves round her daughter, studying every angle. I suppose that works. How about the old, new, borrowed, and blue?"

Kate pulls a frilly garter from her bag. "From Paris. Rick thought they were sexy and bought me two sets of them. It covers borrowed and blue."

"Farley will love it! And my shoes are new," Lanie points out.

Melinda detaches a delicate chain holding a gold heart, from around her neck. "This is old. My mother wore it when she was married. So did I. Now it's my daughter's turn. She kisses Lanie's cheek, careful not to mar her makeup. "Now it's yours. May it bring as much happiness to you and Farley as it did to your father and me."

* * *

Rick holds two ties up against his shirt, wishing Alexis or Kate was still home. His suit is Phil Culpepper's latest creation. It's structured enough to be formal, but with a lightweight fabric that Phil promised will keep him from sweltering in New York's increasingly hot summer. The trouble is, Rick isn't sure which of his ties will go with it better. He'd wait and ask Carrie Anne, but she loves the paisley and stylized flowers from an era she's only seen in old movies.

Rick traverses the few feet to his office where Callie is still joyfully swinging. He squats in front of her, displaying the two accessories in question. "You have the only pair of feminine eyes around here for the moment, which one do you like?" Callie presses her palm against the light brown silk with navy stripes. "I would have chosen the other one, but I'll take your advice. According to your older sister, I haven't chosen right yet."

* * *

Farley towers over Scooter as they stand before the altar awaiting the start of the processional. Alexis fits her violin beneath her chin and begins to play _Salut d'Amour. _At the third measure, Kate starts down the aisle, and Lanie follows on Walter Parish's arm.

Pastor Deakin smiles as Walter releases Lanie to Farley. "This chapel is small in size, but I can feel the immensity of the love within it. Friends and family of Lanie and Farley, you have all gathered here to celebrate the joining of these two people. Lanie and Farley have promises they wish to make to each other before you and before God. They will be making them now. Farley."

"Lanie, I knew from the first moment you walked into Rick's loft that we were meant to be together. In the time since, I've never doubted it for a moment. I promise to spend my life with you, hold you, love you, and stay by your side whatever the future may bring. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part."

Pastor Deakin nods. "Lanie."

"Farley, until I met you, I never knew a man could make me feel so cherished. I can't imagine a life with anyone but you. I promise to be there for you, love you, and be at your side for whatever life brings to us. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part."

Deakin glances at Scooter and Kate. "Have you the rings?" Kate presses a thick gold band into Lanie's hand as Scooter hands a thinner one to Farley. "You may exchange them now."

"You can do it, man," Scooter whispers as Farley's large fingers slip Lanie's ring on. Lanie's ordinarily skilled hands fumble a little, but she gets a ring on Farley's finger.

Deakin raises his hands in the air. "In the love symbolized by circles of gold with neither a beginning or an end, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Farley gathers Lanie into his arms as the chapel vibrates with applause.

Epilogue

"You're not a bad dancer, Jake," Martha notes as the two of them move to a slow number at the end of the jazz quartet's set. As the music concludes, he holds tightly to her hand. "Jake, the musicians are taking a break."

"I know," Jake acknowledges, dropping to one knee and praying that he can get up again. "But I need to ask you something. "Martha Rodgers, I never thought at this stage of my life there would be another woman who could bring me the joy you have. You are the music that will never leave my dreams and the flame that lights my life. Will you marry me?"

Martha gazes down as Jake extends a ring. "Yes, yes, I will."

Finis

A/N Thank you for taking this journey with me. I hope you'll ride along on a very different one. My next story will be an imagining of what would have happened if Jackson Hunt's mission at the U.N. had not gone south and he didn't have to leave the country after he and Martha had their night of passion. Join me for "A Clash of Duties."

Love,

Sally


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